All Heaven With Its Power
by MaySoFarAway
Summary: Steve Rogers is sent on a diplomatic mission to treat with some unlikely allies, along with an unlikely expert. And some things are watching. Sandman/Fables/Hellboy/Good Omens/Buffy/Etc. characters might make some cameos...
1. Chapter 1

((So here goes. This one...well. There's going to be a LOT to it! Sandman/Fables/Hellboy/Good Omens/Buffy/Lots Of Things will make cameos, morphed just a bit to fit the mythology-salad that is Marvel canon. Also, there'll be lots of conjuncture, as this takes place post-Phase 2 of the movie-verse...which hasn't even happened yet. Oh, and there will be a plot! Cause you know, that's a good thing for a story to have. ANYWAY, enjoy!))

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Chapter 1

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"If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended: That you have but slumber'd here, while these visions did appear..."

~ A Midsummer Night's Dream, William Shakespeare

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There's a girl all dressed in black waiting for her brother, outside of a small cafe in Dublin. She's nibbled her cookie into the shape of a bird, looking down at it thoughtfully as it sits on her plate, and stirring her coffee. After a while, a young man drops into the seat across from her, startling her slightly, and then She smiles. The smile is big and bright behind black-painted lips, and causes a man across the street to trip over his own feet.

"I'm still not used to seeing you in stuff that isn't black," She tells her brother, nodding to his crisp white shirt and khakis. The young man shrugs, smiling just slightly.

"I tried gray. It didn't work on me," He brushes platinum hair out of his dark eyes. Under her own black tresses, She smiles again.

"So bro, why'd you wanna see me? And in Ireland?" She glances around the street, busy and unassuming as it always is. People walk by quickly, with shopping bags or briefcases, the occasional worker from the docks pushing up his sleeves as he passes. There's a troubadour on the corner, strumming out a tune about his ex girlfriend, with something or other thrown in about vacuums. She shakes her head, as her brother picks up the cookie.

"Someone's coming here," He tells her, quietly. "Someone powerful and seeking allies, from the hidden places on this planet, namely the hidden places on this island..." He frowns, as much as his stoic face can. But to his sister, even the slightest flickers of emotion are brand new with him. He lifts the bird-cookie to the sky for a moment, almost as if imagining how it would look in flight, "However, their dreams are also bringing them close to the reality of -my- realm. I think they know about me, and want my assistance as well."

"Interesting," She grins, "Well if its my advice you want, your predecessor didn't much involve himself in the squabbles of mortals. But you're different, even as you're the same person," She reaches up, scratching just under the mark around her eye, "...I take it what you feel, what you've seen through your own eyes, is making you want to?"

"I know there is no good, no evil, and that balance is an illusion..." His forehead creases briefly, "...But I sense from their dreamscapes that this could be important to the cosmos." His sister chuckles.

"That is our Brother's area of expertise. Have you come back as both Dream -and- Destiny, brother?"

"I know," He smirks, "And to think that the fears of mortals can mean they know what we do not is also kind of...stupid," He looks boyish then, when he laughs lightly, and it makes his sister reach out, touching his hand. "...But I want to. You once told me what was human in me was burned away when I became your brother, but sometimes I wonder. Because I see these dreams, and their good source, and I want to help."

"...You know what? I say try," She smiles, surprising him, "Why not? Explore who you are, in this form. What you are is eternal, hun, but -who- you are is different now. Girl'd have to be blind not to see it." She winks, "Meddle in some mortals' lives, help 'em in their war, see what becomes of it. I'll be keeping an eye out."

"Thank you, Sister. I...I trust your counsel above our other siblings'," He tells her, rising, offering her back her bird-shaped cookie. She pushes it back into his hand, still smiling, soft and adoring and sweet.

"You always have. Go, be mysterious, sweetie," Death tells him, watching as he walks away down the street, turns a corner, and enters a random door in a random building. A door that takes him back into the Dreaming, and into the dreams of one Steven Rogers.

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"Yes."

"...You don't even know what the assignment is yet, Captain Rogers," Phil Coulson blinks at him across his desk, and Steve winces, silently cursing at himself. Coulson just shakes his head. He knows Steve wants out, it's clear. Maybe that was why they'd asked him, though Steve starts to think that was probably at least not the first reason, as he looks over the file.

"A diplomatic mission?" He lofts a brow, and the SHIELD agent nods once.

"We've been granted a respite, or so it seems." Coulson explains, "But after the most recent incident with Thor and his brother, and a realm full of dark elves, it's been determined that it would behoove SHIELD to make nice with some of our more...reclusive neighbors, on -this- planet." Steve's brows go higher.

"...People like Thor, on Earth?"

"Somewhat," Coulson allows, "The government is already aware of a few of the more...ethereal individuals, wandering around. A couple have even been on the payroll in the past." His smile is the most guarded Steve has ever seen it, and that's saying something, "Your partner on this mission will be able to tell you much more, though. It's her area of expertise." Steve shakes his head, squinting at the file once more.

"...I'm traveling with Miss Lewis?" He frowns, "Isn't she studying physics?" Not that Steve had paid any especial attention, after spotting her in the Tower, all curves and big eyes and easy smiles. Nope, not at all, definitely not on his radar from day one. "I mean, she's Jane Foster's intern, yeah?"

"She was," Is all Phil Coulson will say, "I suggest you let her tell you about her recently acquired qualifications herself, though. I assure you though, after her last run-in with Thor's enemies, she's more than knowledgeable." Steve nods, slowly, eyes fixed on the SHIELD agent for a time, thinking.

"...And -are- you sending me because of Bucky and Sharon?" He asks then, bluntly, and unsurprisingly, Coulson's face remains neutral.

"Yes and no," He responds, honestly. "You're a good ambassador, Captain. Through and through, you're a kind, fair person, who listens to others, and to whom others respond," Coulson pauses, "The fact that you could probably use the time away from a very awkward situation, is a happy accident." Awkward is an understatement, Steve muses. Having his best friend back, but still working through memory and loyalty issues, and seeing his old flame's granddaughter in the halls every day were wearing Cap thin, getting in his head, making him irritable.

It wasn't their faults, though. Bucky was trying, and considering the years of reprogramming and being told his best friend was an enemy, the progress he's made was astonishing. And Sharon had been nothing but pleasant since she came to the New York offices, if a little bewildered as to why a superhero she'd never met before winced every time he looked at her. Nah, Steve knows he's the problem. Time away, with something new to keep him occupied, is exactly what he wants, and needs. It'll probably be good for Bucky too, let him heal up instead of feeling conflicted every time he sees Steve. By the time he gets back, maybe he'll be able to chat with Sharon too, ask her about her family, their life...

And hey, if it means getting to spend time with one of the few women he finds it easy to talk to, that's not so bad. Not that he's spoken much to Darcy Lewis, but the few times he has have been downright... normal. Complimenting her coffee, helping her with a box of files on a high shelf, or helping her hunt down Thor's cat (the man has taken a liking to strays. Tony finally had to put his foot down...and almost stepped on a kitten in doing so). Small moments, but pleasant ones. The last few weeks she has been a little reclusive, though. Steve just figured Dr. Foster was keeping her busy.

When he meets her at the airport the next day, however, he notes the subtle changes, though the friendly smile she shoots his way is the same as always. There's the necklace she's taken to wearing all the time, a tiny iron pendant on a slim silver chain. Her eyes have a guardedness that Steve doesn't remember being there, tough though she's always struck him. And there's a ring on her right middle finger, a deep blue sapphire flashing in the early autumn sunlight.

"Heya Cap," She greets him as he draws nearer to the waiting plane, waving a hand, "Ready to get your mind-hole blown?"

"I'd argue that nothing surprises me anymore, Miss Lewis, but I've already lost that bet," He smirks, automatically picking up her sliding suitcase for her as they turn to board, Agents looming at all corners.

"Darcy," She corrects him, grinning again, "And thanks, soldier! I am incapable of traveling light, especially since we're heading to Europe. It's kind of a crime not to have an outfit for everything." They settle into their seats, on a plane Steve is pretty sure SHIELD got from Tony Stark, if the huge screen, squashy seats, and track lighting are any indication. They settle into their seats, the Agents filter off the tarmac, and Steve frowns in confusion.

"They're not sending any Agents with us?"

"I'm the Agent, genius," Darcy says it with that perpetual smirk though, and Steve smiles back even as he ducks his head in apology. "Nah don't feel bad, I just barely passed combat training. No, see, the people we're gonna be tracking down? Most of 'em aren't huge fans of organizations, government run shit, you know," She shrugs, "One on one will be way more effective."

"Well, not like most of the Avengers are big fans either," Steve has to admit, and his companion chuckles.

"Just be your charming self, big guy," She tells him, and he finds himself wondering if her list of nicknames for him is endless. "Especially when we land in England. They dig charming in England."

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Somewhere over the Atlantic, Steve decides to let himself take a nap. Not that he needs much sleep most days, but it's for that very reason that he's trained himself to stock up when things are quiet, because they so rarely are sometimes. So while Darcy Lewis gives him a smile before digging into the book in her lap, he leans back in the cozy seat, shutting his eyes and clearing his mind, focusing only on the white noise produced by the engines outside.

Steve Dreams.

He's used to the icy landscape that still stubbornly lingers in his dreamscape by now, despite the therapy he's been to, the talking it out. The ice and snow are a steady backdrop to even the most innocent of his slumbering meandering, at this point he'd probably wonder what was wrong if he went to sleep and things weren't white-washed and cold. He's walking this time, following lights that hover over his trail through the snow, distant music from his era just out of hearing...Rosemary Clooney, he's pretty sure. The wind garbles it a bit too much to be certain.

It's simple. Steve doesn't need a shrink to tell him what a dream about wandering, searching for something he can't fine, could mean. He's all right with being lost. It's getting better every day spent in this new world, honestly, lonely as it is most of the time. What he can't really explain, though, is the figure lingering just outside of his periphery, watching him steadily with deep, fathomless black eyes.

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Darcy likes Steve, a lot. For a handsome hunk of hero-meat, he's also really down to earth and nice, when you get to talking with him. He looks a little lost on this mission as well, as if he's not quite sure what, exactly, it's going to entail and is therefore perfectly happy to defer to her. That's another thing that Darcy appreciates, though. Plenty of people had raised eyebrows at work, when they found out that Darcy was kind of in charge on this one, had been put there by Coulson himself. Her expertise wasn't in question for most of them...plenty of the lab monkeys knew what had been done to her a few months ago. No, it was more the fact that SHIELD thought she could handle herself that had throats clearing in disbelief.

Well, screw 'em all, Darcy figured. She'd so far faced down a Destroyer, a Dark Elf, and Director Fury with a flu. She'd show whoever thought that she was just a piece of office candy whom SHIELD had been forced to keep on for security reasons. Damn right she'd been assigned to tell Captain America what to do on a diplomatic mission. Because she could, in fact, do her damn job (which they'd notice as soon as she was gone and as such, the filing systems went to shit). And also, he seemed totally cool with letting her do it. Steve had some sad edges to him, that was clear, maybe she'd be able to cheer him up a little.

Of course, Darcy had some sad edges of her own these days.

"We're getting ready to land," She tells him, waking him up with a hand on his arm. Steve jumps a little, looking around, and then over his shoulder, blinking a few times. Darcy grins, cause it's kind of adorable, "You alright, man? You were kinda mumbling in your sleep a little."

"Yeah I do that sometimes," He says ruefully, yawning, sitting up. "So, our first stop is England, you were saying?" Darcy nods, tilting her head. She contemplates asking what he'd been dreaming about, but they weren't really at that level of friendship yet. Plus it was nosy, even for her.

"London is first, actually, we've got a bookstore in Soho to visit," Her grin widens, "And fish and chips to stuff in your face, because life is too short to skip some real, honest-to-Thor fish and chips when in London." Cap looks politely confused by this, but gives her a smile anyway.

This is another thing Darcy likes about this guy. He rolls with the weird.

And things were going to get very, very weird.

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	2. Chapter 2

((Still easing in. I'm always trying to get a better hang of Cap, hopefully in this one I can manage broody without falling into tropes. Which is really my biggest pet peeve with my own work these days, veering away from the cliches. I think this is why building a crossover world is so appealing, leaving the familiar lands this fandom tends to settle into. Hopefully I can pull it off, really I just write to entertain my own weirdo brains. ANYWAY, here have some meandering.))

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Chapter 2

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Someone was knocking on the shop door. This wasn't too terribly unusual, in and of itself. What was unusual was that the person -kept- knocking, intent rolling off the door frame in waves that even the most idiotic of supernaturals couldn't miss. Despite a million and one protections against wandering eyes, this person kept knocking, which could only mean one thing: Aziraphale had known they were coming...at least at some point, he had. Alas, sometimes he sported the short-term memory of a large colander.

"...Yes?" He asked, pushing up his spectacles as he opened the front door, light penetrating the dusty innards of his shop. A very tall man and a very short young woman stood outside, the latter smiling brightly, and the former already eying the stacks of comic books looming behind the tweed-clad angel. Aziraphale's first instinct was to hiss protectively, in a manner that would make Crowley proud. He manages to stop himself in time, though.

"Hi! Darcy Lewis, we spoke on the phone?" The young, clearly American girl tells him, and he reaches up, touching his forehead, blinking furiously.

"Oh! Yes, Anathema told you where to snoop me out. Half a moment..." He turns to go back inside, and then looks back, fixing her tall princely oaf of a boyfriend with a sharp look, "They're not for sale," Aziraphale informs him firmly, before heading into his back room. He had, in fact, known a week ago that a newly indoctrinated Witch, with excellent references, had called at some point, and as such he had set aside a copy of a not-uncommon, yet perplexedly still difficult to find tome for her. He hands it to Darcy outside, her small hands wrapping around the worn book reverently enough to please the stuffy old bloke.

"Thank you so much..."

"I warn you," He hesitates, thinking a moment, before nodding to himself, deciding that yes, telling her 'things' was really all right. He was pretty sure Anathema hadn't told these people what he was, exactly, anyway, "Most of those you're looking for. They're not much for the black and white, good and evil, sort of thing. In fact if you told them humanity was in trouble, most would probably heave a sigh of relief," He smiles, ruefully, at the utterly confused look on the handsome fellow's face. Aziraphale could swear he's seen him somewhere before. Perhaps some American film poster, he's got the jawline and all. "If there are powers to be fought, best entice them in a manner to which they're accustomed. Don't go bringing up 'debts to humanity' and 'the world needs you'. They shall laugh in your faces."

"Gotchya," Darcy gives him a wee salute, "We'll remember that, thank you, again, very much."

He watches as they walk away, chuckling a little to himself as he turns to go back inside, overhearing the tall fellow ask her what the devil sort of people were they going to talk to, exactly. Humans, they were just wonderful, really.

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"I'm feeling way more out of my depth than usual," Steve confesses to her, as they sit just inside a small pub near their hotel that evening, greasy wrappers of vinegary fried cod and chips on the table between them. Darcy looks up from the pages of the book she's been so graciously gifted, carefully turning the pages, her greasy fingers guarded by napkins, grinning wryly, even as her eyes are full of sympathy.

"Already, Cap? That's no good," Darcy sighs, shutting the simply -fascinating- tome for the moment and reaching over, wiping crumbs from his chin with the napkin still in her hand, "What did Coulson actually tell you, about this mission?"

"He threw around words like 'ethereal' and 'reclusive', and implied that I'd be working to get SHIELD on the good side with folks kinda like Thor," He looks a little bashful, rubbing his chin himself, and it makes a warmth twist around in Darcy's chest. "Am I off?"

"Not really, he just wasn't as specific as he could have been," She assures him, taking a drink of her somewhat neglected beer, "They're like Thor in that most of them are thought to only exist in legends. So in other words...magic. Supernatural. Bound to make you seriously question some shit." Darcy reaches over, patting his hand as he winces.

"...But like Dr. Foster says about Thor and Asgard, it's all just...magic being science that we don't understand yet, yeah?" Steve asks, and Darcy can tell from his expression that he needs something solid to grasp onto right now, in this moment. But she also doesn't want to lie to him, because, she realizes, he's readily taking her word. Rolling with the weird, as always. Then, recalling that Jane had mentioned something about Captain America 'being a good Catholic boy about some stuff', she decides to betray a confidence, for the good of Steve's sanity.

"Not all of it," She admits, biting her lip, "But if it makes you feel any better? That guy we got this book from was totally an honest-to-god angel." Steve pauses in his confusion, processing that. Darcy counts it a win when he smiles again, and maybe he's just a little brain-broken when he does, but hey, it's a smile, and it totally counts.

"...Well, all right then."

Darcy's smile softens further, keeping her hand on his for a bit. She realizes how complacent she's become with these kinds of things in the past year, and it's only partially thanks to Thor. Really, the big lug was just an opening act to the stage production of weirdness that was her adult life. She'd experienced personally the depth of his brother's moral ambiguity and emotional instability, and watched as a race of elves tried to burn away the world. Steve's experience was, hopefully, not to be as traumatic as her's had been, but it was still a lot to take in, even if you were a super-soldier, best friends with a man in a metal suit, a giant green rage monster, the god of thunder, and a kid bitten by a radioactive spider. Weird science was one thing. Gods and demons and faeries and spirits were another entirely.

"Look, this is all kind of new to me too, but I promise you, it's all real," She assures him, in her best comforting voice. There'd been a time when comforting, kind, those were the last things in her arsenal of dealing with people. Darcy's grown a bit recently, which hey, she can tell her shrink all about when she gets back. "And from what I'm told, it's a lot less concerned about us than we fear, so..."

"How do you know this, all of a sudden?" He asks her the inevitable question, looking her in the eye now, seeming somewhat steadier with the knowledge that at least, maybe, the mythology he'd been raised to believe in as a child might actually be up there too, "I mean, always noticed you were smart," He tells her, and that kinda feels good, "But you were Miss Foster's lab assistant last I saw you, and now you've got your nose in a dusty book about fairytales," The corners of his lips are turning up as he says it, and Darcy finds she's okay telling this guy just about anything.

"...Well," She sighs, "...The short answer I'm willing to share?" He nods, "...When we went back to Tromso, finally, for our equipment, and the whole Malekith shit went down, I was..." She pauses, thinking, sipping her beer again, "Compromised, as they'd say back at work. Indwelt, as they'd say in other less professional circles, which is a way more accurate term," She swallows, shaking her head, "...One good thing the bitch who inhabited my body left me with, though, was her knowledge of myth and legend, and what was really there in all the wacky realms. And hey," She coughs on a mirthless laugh, "If you're gonna almost kill your best friend against your will, might as well get something useful out of it, yeah?"

"...That's horrible," Steve frowns, his hand suddenly turning, palm-up, fingers wrapping around hers. Darcy sighs, smiling a little.

"We won in the end," She maintains, squeezing his hand right back. It was a nice hand. Steady and big and warm.

"Still..." He looks at her carefully, watching as she drains her pint, and it's oddly comforting. As opposed to similar looks she'd gotten from coworkers, or even from Thor sometimes, wondering if something hurt, or murderous, or broken, lurked behind her stare. No, Steve looked at her like Jane did, or even Coulson did: As if he was just a friend, making sure she was okay. Mind, he didn't know EVERYTHING she'd been through, but trying to kill Jane was pretty much the worst of it, "I mean, I'm curious, but I bet you don't wanna tell me what else you might've pulled while someone else was controlling you."

"...And the fact that you didn't look me up before this mission, with your clearance level, and all? Puts you higher up on my list of favorite people," Darcy grins, shaking her head, "Ahhh Steve, you and I are gonna get along great on this crazy mission, I can tell," He smiles again, "So yeah, after they'd determined that knowledge was all I still had in my head, SHIELD put me in contact with certain other branches," Darcy shrugs, "Honestly, I've always wanted to be really good at something specific, instead of all over the place. I -am- smart, proud of it, but kinda lacked, you know, a -thing-. So I'm kinda thankful for the bitch and all the supernatural shit she shot into my head, cause I rock at it now."

"That's...a good way to be," Steve suddenly frowns down at his fish and chips, stuffing another handful into his face, and Darcy bites her lip, watching him, until he looks up again. The rueful smirk returns, "Don't mind me, y'just. Reminded me that I've been kind of impossible to live with back home lately," He admits to her, "And...why? Because I got my best friend back from the dead and Peggy had a full life, with kids and grandkids? Meanwhile you've had someone inside your head, who tried to make you KILL your best friend, and you're excited about the job prospects they left behind..."

"No, don't do that," Darcy shakes her head firmly, hair flopping in her face, "Trust me man, I've got plenty of shit I'm working through. Plus you forgot to mention the little thing about you being asleep for seventy years, that's kind of a big deal..."

"Less than you'd think, at least these days..." Steve admits, surprising her a little, "I mean, when I think of the things that bother me now...they're not actually all that modern," He shrugs, "Figuring out my phone, getting used to more cussing in public by people who aren't soldiers... McDonald's..." He grins again, "That's nothing. Having the shine of the Army, governments, taken away... underhanded transactions...secrets. Wars that could've been avoided. Those aint new under the sun, Darcy," He dips his head, "Woulda happened to their super soldier anyway, now or then."

"Still. Being able to rationally articulate something doesn't necessarily mean you're dealing," Darcy points out bluntly, though her voice is kind. "I rock at self-analysis. Actually dealing is a whole other beast."

"You might have a point there," Captain America allows, sighing. "Ahhh, sorry, guess I kinda carried my mood along with me." He reaches up, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and Darcy squeezes his hand again.

"Let it all out, man, road trips are purging forces of nature, even if we are working," She declares, setting down an empty pint glass, "And if you're hanging on to anything, well... Let's just say some of our targets might poke at your damage. Fair warning."

"And yet, they thought I'd be perfect for this," He chuckles, and Darcy grins.

"Because you go with the madness around you..." She pauses, once more wondering if she should share this bit of information already, or at all. But again, Steve Rogers looks like he could use another pick me up. Heaven forbid he actually ask anything of her, Darcy wonders if she'd ever be able to say no to that face. "We're um, heading to Ireland next, after some more business here. I thought you might like to know..." She reaches into her voluminous satchel bag, rummaging for a bit, before finding the slip of paper. "SHIELD tracked down your only living relatives some time ago...yanno, in case you washed up with 'em," She grins, at the incredulous look on his face, "...Your father's brother stayed in the homeland. You've got a cousin still alive, Rebecca..." Darcy licks her lips, pressing the paper into his hand, "And almost all her children and grandchildren live in County Kerry. We could...we could stop in. Say hi...they know about you, at least that you're Captain America..."

"Yeah? Becca? We wrote letters as kids..." He looks up from the scribbled names and addresses, face bright for the first time since he first said hello to her on the tarmac, and Darcy feels something tighten in her chest, her smile widening in response. "I mean...if they'd want me coming around..."

"I'd think they would," She's quick to assure him, "And...well, work's gonna keep us in that part of Ireland for a while I figure, you'll have plenty of time to reforge some family ties, yeah?" His grin and the vulnerability in those blue eyes of his, together, could melt a heart of stone, Darcy's sure of it. It's certainly getting to her's.

"Thanks, Darcy..." And he means it so much, it almost hurts.

"...Hey, I just like seein' you smile, big guy."

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	3. Chapter 3

((Darcy's coat, no matter the 'Verse, will always be Sandra Bullock's coat from While You Were Sleeping. Child of the 90's over here, no shame. The last good decade for chick flicks. Anyway! As with everything, Buffyverse canon is morphed ever so slightly to fit a world where ...SHIELD isn't really fighting vampires? Or something. Instead of blatantly changing things though, I prefer to leave things vague. It's still entirely possible Angel's off to go have sex in space.))

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Chapter 3

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"No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves."

~ Dracula, Bram Stoker

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There are certain things that still make Darcy take pause and analyze what, exactly, her life is all about these days. Inviting Captain America out at around midnight, with a rap at his hotel room door, to go and seek out a vampire with her, is definitely one of those things. "He's all over the world these days," She explains, after giving Steve the bare bones of the whole...vampires and various sundry demons vs. slayers, ninjas, and good vampires thing. "So I'm kind of jumping on it when SHIELD tells me he's here in London."

"...Okay, vampire thing aside," Cap shakes his head, pulling on his leather jacket as the two of them step out into the chilly city streets. Cold is coming here sooner than in New York, though home certainly won't be far behind, "...How okay are you, personally, with the fact that SHIELD seems to have tabs on just about everyone, everywhere?"

Darcy does have to stop and consider that question, even though she has thought about this dilemma before. It's been a while since she's given it a good turn-over in her head, though, guilty. "Honestly?" She answers at last, burying her hands in her old, threadbare and oversized men's coat. "Living in the age of GPS and Google Maps, I think I've gotten way too used to, say, a fuckin' thirteen year old in Oslo being able to keep tabs on me, let alone SHIELD," She grins, nudging him, "Buuuut I was also a kid in the age of movies coming in big plastic rectangles that you sometimes had to blow on to make work, so if I stop and think about it? Yeah, it kinda bugs me. But tell me, Cap," She gives him a lofted brow, "Wouldn't you want to keep track of a vampire?"

"Point," Steve grins, looping an arm with hers, which strikes her as uncharacteristically forward for him (not that Darcy's complaining), until she realizes that the man is a freaking furnace. Tony Stark would probably be okay snuggling up to him in the cold. Which, hey, there's a fun mental image. She wonders if the internet has jumped on that yet. "Though if what you've told me is true, and this guy just wants to live his life, take the hand fate's dealt him, I can't help but feel for 'im." She smiles, squeezing his arm.

"See, that? Is yet another reason why you make such a good ambassador, all-American muscle and good-looks aside." She surmises, enjoying his bashful smirk. "I tell you about the vampire we're going to see, and you latch onto the fact that's he's just another loner oddball who probably just wants to be left alone." Steve ducks his head.

"People keep saying stuff like that, I really don't think it's a special trait." He maintains, and the tone he does it with is so earnest. Darcy could see why someone could either be really annoyed, or really inspired by a guy like Steve Rogers. No, he wasn't perfect, or spotless, once you got past the looks, but everything he said came from an earnest place. She was so used to the exact opposite from people. So were most human beings. "...But I could go on and on about how I don't think I'm all they've said I am, fact is we've got a job to do."

"And from all I've heard and read?" She tells him, gently now, and he meets her gaze, "You two will probably get along just great."

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They find their target just outside of a nightclub back in Soho, looking about as out of place as Steve feels, only in more of a brooding, black-clad way. The vampire seems to hone in on him too, just as Darcy goes straight toward him, standing just inside the shadows, eyes already intent on the pair of them. "After a couple of centuries..." Angel muses aloud, as they draw near. He kind of reminds Steve of the old Hollywood leading men of his day, broad-shouldered and chiseled, with a face from another time,"A man develops a keen sense for when he's being sought out," He looks Steve over, smiling in a tight, reserved way, "And by Captain America, no less."

"Angelus," Darcy smiles, flashing her SHIELD badge, "We're here to..."

"I know," He sighs, looking Darcy over this time, his eye calculating, and Steve can't really blame him, even as he instinctively rests a protective palm on her back. She hardly looks the part of the standard Agent, but then, this vampire's interest seems less about her lack of physical prowess, "You're a Witch," He nods to the ring on her finger, the pendant around her neck, and Steve is taken by surprise yet again, "I wasn't aware that SHIELD had Witches in its employ these days."

"Oh trust me, SHIELD is full of surprises," Darcy smirks, tilting her head and stepping a bit closer, her expression open, "But something tells me I'm not the person you really want to talk to about all this." She looks sideways, toward Steve, who blinks a few times, before looking directly at the vampire they're treating with. Angel's eyes narrow, meeting Steve's gaze steadily. Not many people do that, Steve's noticed, most looking away in either contempt or cowed silence. When the vampire looks to him, it's as if he's searching for something. He seems to find it when he nods once, motioning the two of them into the alley beside the club.

"I'd say let's go somewhere quieter, but I'm keeping an eye out for a friend who might have some uglies trailing him," Angel crosses his arms, looking to Darcy again, "I though SHIELD had taken the hint, about trying to arm wrestle us away from our own fight?"

"You mean after your ex girlfriend beat the crap out of Black Widow?" Darcy smirks. Steve raises a brow.

"Beat up -Natasha-? ...Who's your ex?"

"Superhero," Angel replies simply, "And yeah, there was that. And the year before, when she left the three agents SHIELD sent to bully her cuffed up in a motel room," He turns, hands in the pockets of his heavy trench coat, "So. You decided trying the vampire would be...safer?" He smiles a little, and Steve decides that yes, he likes this guy.

"SHIELD isn't offering a job this time," Darcy tells him, steadily, "And even if they were, keep saying no man, cause the desks are -terrible-." She gives Angel a smile, as if to let him know she completely understands, and Steve realizes that's she's kind of good at this diplomacy thing, too. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she's still studying political science, which she'd told him on the trip over. "But honestly, even with a Witch on the payroll to explain this stuff, there are things a bunch of human...and um, Asgardian heroes, aren't equipped for. SHIELD wants to know if you'll at least answer the phone, if they call."

"And they -do- always seem to know where I am, where the rest are..." Angel sighs, his tone softening a bit,"Sorry Miss, I don't blame the messenger. Just...you know."

"Been through a lot." Steve finishes for him, no question at the end of the statement. The vampire dips his head once in assent.

"All of it's been in penance, so I accept...most of it." The vampire looks to the superhero again, and there's that searching look, that gaze that is so much older than this man could possibly be, unless you knew better. "...You were on ice, Captain Rogers. Do they think you'll still age slowly, though? And the rest, the man with a battery in his chest...Natasha Romanoff, I ran across her myself in Northern Ireland. Twenty years ago. She looked exactly the same in the footage from New York City as she did then..."

"They're pretty sure I'll live a long time too, yeah," Steve nods, watching the man closely. Darcy bites her lip, backing off half a step. It's subtle, but he gathers that she thinks he can close this deal better than she can. "Tony Stark's body might be able to keep up with his reactor, too."

"And Thor's immortal, of course," Angel smiles, "I'm maudlin and rambling, sorry. It's just that. I had a conscience forced on me. Vampires have no souls. Except that I do. After endless years of hedonism and violence, I one night woke up to the realization of every single thing I'd done, person I'd killed. A curse, because to feel is the best eternal torture." His smile goes wistful, "I've seen people who live half as long as you probably will, Cap, lose their good heart after only a few years of fighting the pure evils of Hell, of seeing their loved ones die," Angel reaches over, clapping Steve's shoulder, and he finds he can't help the empty feeling those words gouge into his chest. Because if anyone would know, it's this man, with truth in his eyes that are older than Steve ever wants to be, "You and yours have a lot of years. Hang onto your soul hard, because eternity is a hell of a long time to live..." He looks back to Darcy then, his smile gone wry once more, "...SHIELD can call on me, if a new hell-mouth decides to open up somewhere. One condition, though."

"Name it," Darcy's voice is quiet, her smile soft, and it stirs a little something in Cap, where he was just left feeling rather chilled and empty.

"Leave Buffy alone," The vampire murmurs, reaching up and adjusting his scarf, moving to return to the street, "She's been through enough."

"The Slayer won't be bothered, least not if they try and put me on the job," Darcy gives a small salute, and Angelus seems satisfied. He smiles back at Steve then, who manages a smile back.

"It was good to finally meet you, Cap, maybe next time it'll be more fun. I ah, had all your comic books." He slips back into the crowd, lost in the shadowy margins before Steve can blink twice. He shakes his head, trying to process all that, all he'd seen in those old, old eyes. Darcy, meanwhile, chuckles.

"It's kinda disappointing, knowing he's really the only good-guy vampire out there," She sighs. And then looks back up to him, and Steve feels her nudging his arm. His eyes flicker back down to her, "Where's your head at, handsome?" He shrugs, linking arms with her as they trudge back through the streets themselves. He hasn't thought much of the action, how overly-familiar it could come across, as he's so used to being so warm by now, and she's so small, in her thin coat. But when she leans into him in turn, he realizes how nice it is to be close to someone, even as just a friend, and how long it had been, before this trip, that someone did draw near to him like this.

"Oh, you know, now I'm musing on my own mortality, and that of the people I care about, the usual," He finds himself grinning into the dark, "...But mostly, ah. Witch? When were you gonna tell me that?"

"Really?" Darcy's laugh bubbles up from her lips, drowning out the Soho music and laughing and traffic, at least in Steve's ears, "I introduce you to a 250 year old vampire who fights the mystical, demonic powers of darkness, and you're stuck me being a Witch?"

"You're prettier than him," Steve finds himself quipping, smirking. Tony would be so proud of him. Darcy just gapes at him for half a moment, before that great laugh erupts again.

"Woop woop, prettier than a vampire, take that shit, Bella." She sighs, shrugging under his arm, "I don't know, telling you that I'm just some authority on magic shit seemed enough, without the actual title. And...maybe..." She hesitates for a moment, glancing up at him with those big blue eyes, "I mean I've heard around the offices that you're a little religious, so...and you know, you kind of fought a Nazi who was way into the occult..."

"...And now I fight evil with a Norse god, who's kind of become one of my best friends," Steve reminds her, though it does cheer him a bit, to know she's paid attention, that she remembers these things about him. "Nah, like you said, I've taken to uh, rolling with the weird. You're weird," He smirks, as she jabs him with an elbow, "And you're good. And yeah I mean, I was baptized Catholic, but, I kinda haven't been to church in a long time." He feels his grin widening, "Next time I go though, I'll be sure to mention being friends with a Witch during confession."

"Light a candle for me," Darcy laughs, fingering the necklace at her throat with the arm not looped through Steve's. The sapphire on her hand catches the light from a street lamp as she does.

"He knew by spotting those," Steve murmurs, remembering, nodding to her jewelry, "How?"

"Protection," Darcy holds up the iron pendant, which, Steve now sees, is in the shape of a Milagro, a sacred heart. "Iron keeps away certain things. Sapphire...keeps away other things," She swallows, looking away, biting her lip. He wants to ask what she's guarding herself from, if something so small can really keep her mind safe from being taken over again, but before he can decide whether or not that would even be polite to bring up, Darcy goes on herself, as if she can read his thoughts, "I'll tell you everything, at some point, why I think a bit of shine will keep away actual evil shit," Her smile returns, small and a little fragile, "We're not quite at that level of bromance yet." Steve has to chuckle.

"Right then, just curious, you know," He does squeeze her arm, though, and they walk in companionable silence for a space. Then, as another thought asserts itself, and Darcy seems like she actually enjoys his thousand-and-one questions, he asks, "His ex is a superhero?"

"Sort of, she's a vampire slayer. THE Slayer, in fact," Darcy replies, yawning, "I read her file. Someone at SHIELD had actually typed in that it was, and I quote, 'A Romance For The Ages'."

"So in other words, it ended terribly," Steve muses.

"The most tragic."

"Yeah, I know how that goes."

Darcy leans into him a bit more, and despite everything, she's making him smile again.

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	4. Chapter 4

((The Glanconer is perhaps one of my favorite of the Fair Folk in legend. Hopefully you'll forgive me for reforming him just a little bit...and for giving him Ben Barnes' face in my head ;) Enjoy lots of surreal things, and the favorite of a Faun. THIS IS SPARTA. I mean, fanfic.))

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Chapter 4

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Steve leaves her at her room, after she tells him about the hike they'll be taking into Devonshire the next morning, their last full day in England for a bit. He seems rather enthused by the idea of being away from the city, out into the countryside. "Oh just wait, Cap," Darcy tells him, grinning from the door frame, "Ireland is gonna be a LOT of countryside, I promise you. And seaside, lots of seaside." She doesn't miss the way his eyes light up at that news.

After sending a few emails over a mug of tea (she'd given up her coffee addiction, after the whole mess with Malekith. It made her nerves too jittery, much as she missed her old friends, the magic, dark beans), she settles into the deep covers on her hotel bed, turning the events of the evening over and over in her mind. Darcy knows she probably came off as totally cool with meeting a vampire, to Steve anyway, she's pretty sure vampires can hear elevated heart rates. Truth was that she was inwardly fangirling and terrified. Now, she indulges in a delighted shiver, because reading about a thing, and meeting plenty of other supes beforehand, it turns out, does not really prepare a girl for meeting her very favorite, and previously-considered-imaginary, creature.

Vampires!

And, of course, she was becoming friends with Captain America who, for a guy with a lot to be either really sad or really jaded about, was really, really nice. Darcy wasn't blind either, he was giving her a little bit of the eye which, hey, she had goods, so no harm done. And damn, did Steve Rogers ever have goods of his own. But those were thoughts...not for now, Darcy scrunches up her eyes, shaking her head against the pillow. She needed friends, right now. Good ones, and Steve was so, so good, and needed a friend too.

That's all. That has to be all, she tells herself, reaching up, touching the knife with the iron handle that she's driven into a bedpost (SHIELD can cover the shallow gouge, if the hotel even notices).

It -has- to be all.

That's about when she steadies her breathing, stubbornly sending her thoughts to meander elsewhere, around the places they'll be seeing soon, the details on the people they'll be finding next. She reaches for the book from Aziraphale, burying herself in its contents for a time, until her eyelids are finally too heavy, the covers too soft.

Darcy Dreams.

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The diner looks like every cliché, comforting image of a 1950's diner that Darcy has ever seen. Silver-sided, rounded edges, she swings through the doors and settles herself on a stool at the counter, ordering herself a malt shake like it's the most normal thing in the world. Looking down at herself, she notes that her clothes, her frame, are all the same as they were when she was twelve, all awkward angles and hand-me-downs. In her dreams, this too seems normal.

A figure sits beside her, her best friend Junie. It's Junie's face at twelve years old, at least. She's paler than Darcy remembers, though, and her hair is much darker, but in her dream they embrace tightly anyway, babbling about school and the latest episode of The X-Files. Darcy almost remembers days like this after school, only they were spent on the concrete outside of the nearby McDonald's, their neighborhood rough and without grass. Darcy remembers wishing more than once that they'd had a place like this to sit in, to feel safe.

"You LIKE him," Junie is saying, her nose scrunching up like it always had, and Darcy giggles, blushing, hiding her face behind her long dark hair.

"Yeah but so what?" She juts out her chin, looking up again with half-hearted defiance. "You like, totally want to jump Andy's bones."

"Ew, Darcy, seriously," Junie winces, "...Andy's dumb anyway. I mean he might be older, but he's stupid as hell." Darcy laughs, shaking her head. It's funny that Junie would say that, because two years later she'd be dating Andy. She'd be the freshman dating the older guy and...Darcy pauses, licking milkshake from her lips. Junie would be in the car with Andy when a drunk driver hit them.

She's never thought this way in a dream, before. Was this lucid dreaming? It had to be, because Darcy felt like she had slight control over her thoughts. She stares at Junie, willing herself to see what she'd look like ten years older, if she'd lived to be twenty-two, like Darcy had. As she does, though, Junie's face does change, but into someone else's, older, a spindly black mark winding down from her eye. She smiles, wide and kind and mischievous.

"Don't be afraid, honey." The woman swipes a sip from Darcy's malt, winking, "We're all pretty fucked up."

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She wakes, sitting up, looking around her room. There's a stirring of air near the door, but otherwise, all is quiet. Darcy flops back into her pillows with a sigh, reaching up, rubbing her eyes. Dreams, man. She had a feeling they'd only get weirder too, the longer she was on this mission.

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On the train ride out to Exeter, Darcy decides it's time to give Cap the reins for a bit, and starts briefing him on who they're going to see next. "I might actually have more pull on this one, of the two of us," She confesses, "But I don't want you to feel at a loss, or out of the loop." Her smile is wry, handing him a file from the depths of her bag, and he shoots her one of those grateful little grins Darcy's come to expect.

"Thought you were the brains and I was the celebrity stamp on this little operation," Steve jokes, scanning the page she'd opened to for him. Darcy shrugs, still smiling to herself.

"Really, anyone can read up on the deets, and I've got faith in you, Rogers." She leans her head against the cool glass of her window, the city and its outskirts falling away, as she watches him reading. A small frown flits across his face after a while, and he looks up at her with a cocked brow.

"SHIELD thinks they can keep a tab on -this- guy?" He asks, and okay, Darcy was kind of expecting that. "I mean, I'd think he'd be on some kind of potential villain watch list, if anything."

"If you keep reading, you'll see that he's retired his own butt," She assures him, "And really, we just want him as a consultant," At that, Steve nods, making a small 'ahh' sound, looking back down at the paper and seeming to put the pieces together. "We do end up dealing with our share of tricksters, and all..." She licks her lips, eyes swiftly going to the window, as his go back up to her face. "He could be really, really handy when it comes to dealing with 'em."

"True..." Steve replies, and whatever he may or may not have noticed in her mannerisms, as usual, Steve doesn't push, "Still. Fella sounds...colorful." That makes her smile again, a little pointy and delighted.

"I actually can't wait."

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They get off of the train in a small town outside of Exeter, taking a cab out into an even more remote little village, all white-washed stone cottages, cobblestone side-streets and over-grown gardens. Steve loves it, unabashedly, looking the quaint buildings over as they tug on their hiking boots and head out into the woods, with a look on his face that makes Darcy grin. It is charming, and all new to her as well, but somehow experiencing England through his eyes, primarily, is making it all the more enjoyable and new.

He doesn't question her, as they trudge out into the moors, over rolling crags and grasses, copses of trees and patches of heather. Rather, he seems to really be enjoying himself, grinning up at the cloudy sky and offering her an arm over rocks and boggy places. "This is gorgeous," He sighs, "...I never really got to enjoy nature like this, you know? City kid all my life, and then during the war I was a bit preoccupied with the mission at hand to enjoy the scenery."

"That's tragic, considering you were all over Europe...er, not that what you were doing wasn't, like, ridiculously important," Darcy chuckles, though she's a bit pale and winded by this point. Hey, it's been some time since she's gone hiking, okay? "I grew up in Vancouver, with a dad who loved taking on those big ol' mountains. Mind, s'been a while," She grins, "Still, this doesn't look all that different."

"Wait, you're Canadian?" Steve blinks, as she takes his arm and leads him back onto the faint path they've been following. Darcy shakes her head.

"Dual citizenship, I was born after some jostle-y relations on a vacation to visit dad's parents in BC," She waggles her brows, and Steve chuckles, "And yet my parents divorced anyway, despite how good the sex was. Tragic, really."

"Awkward." Steve shakes his head, watching her closely as she pauses just on the edge of a copse of trees. Darcy bites her lip, giving him a quick smile as she unwraps her scarf, reaching into her pocket for something.

"We're ah, almost there," She murmurs, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious as she draws out a small bag of sandalwood and lavender. "He likes to keep his home hidden, but from the folks who know where to look.." She tosses down a handful, murmuring a few words under her breath. Steve doesn't seem phased, though, watching expectantly. Darcy knows that, visually, nothing's changed, at least to the untrained eye. The scent on the wind changes, though, and it makes her grin, pleased that she'd done this right and tugging Steve along with her into the trees.

The faint path becomes clearer under their feet, the trees parting as they come within sight of a small white cottage, winding vines covering much of it, a glass greenhouse off to the side. There's a dark-haired young man outside, watching expectantly from the front step. "I thought I heard someone hocus-pocussing," He calls out, his accent hard to place, "You kids are a bit of a picture, mmm?" He rises, a lean and limber figure unfolding, his face...well. If Darcy hadn't developed a bit of an immunity for his type, she'd be downright panting. His features were fine, high cheekbones and clever mouth, and his eyes were large, arms and legs deceptively muscled under simple, country garb. "Usually it's lonely lasses or angry fellows, seekin' me out," He winks. "Never pretty couples."

"Glancon-" Steve starts, but The Glanconer holds up a hand, shaking his head.

"Just Glen, these days, Glen Reynard." He corrects, his expression still kind though, good-humored, "I find that the old title somewhat...puts people off." He waves a hand, stained with earth and grass, as are the knees of his linen trousers. The man looks to have been working in his garden, before they'd arrived. "But what can I do for you fine folks today, mmm?" He glances between the two of them, eyes settling a little longer on Darcy. The gaze she sends back is kind, but guarded, locked down, and she knows Steve notices.

"We're here on behalf of SHIELD," Steve is the one to say it, flashing his own badge, and to that, Glen nods slowly, pushing longish brown hair back from his face.

"I thought I knew your face, Captain," He gives Steve a cheeky wink, before motioning to the two of them, "Come on inside, have some lemonade. The Mrs. makes it fresh daily."

"You've married?" Darcy blinks, amazed, as they follow the elf inside. He laughs, nodding, leading them through a vestibule littered with picturesque knickknacks and bundles of drying herbs, into a kitchen sporting a rough wooden table, scrubbed stone counter-tops, and more hanging goods from the garden and hot house.

"I know, right? It's what ended me, guilty, the perfect woman," He sighs, motioning for the two of them to sit. Steve blinks up at the ceiling as he does, at a bundle of dried red roses hanging directly over his seat, from the beams. Darcy wonders why her companion is so transfixed, until he's fingering the ribbon tying them together, swallowing roughly.

"My mother's hair ribbons..."

"Mmm, she said many prayers to the Virgin Mary over those dried roses, when your father was away fighting," Glen sighs, setting two glasses of fragrant lemonade with fresh mint leaves and rose petals in front of the two of them. "Don't be afraid, Steven. I've a lot of prayers of the love-lorn hanging around this house. But those aren't why you're here, are they?"

"SHIELD is looking to employ you as a consultant," Darcy says it, resting a hand on Steve's shoulder. Things like this were in the file she'd given him to read, but seeing them were a different thing altogether. Glen's perfectly shaped, yet still masculine eyebrows loft, tilting his head, "You wouldn't have to relocate, not at all, just..." Darcy smirks, "Put in a phone line and keep it open, for us perplexed mortals."

"...We're a bit out of our depth, Sir, when it comes to tricksters," Cap gathers himself enough to say, tearing his eyes away from the roses and instead reaching for his drink. Darcy's proud, squeezing his shoulder before drawing her hand away. Glen watches their exchange with eyes that probably don't miss a thing. "We're ah, hoping you'll consent to giving us insight."

"Interesting!" The man muses, tapping his chin with long, clever fingers. "I'm flattered, truly..." His smirk is sharp though, his eyes suddenly a little darker, "But really, informing on my fellows? You simply must understand the nature of what we are..." He pauses, considering. "I didn't suddenly come into being by the whim of some greater, knowing, evil power, intent on seducing women. I came into being because of a man wanting to explain away a horrible thing he'd done to a virgin, or a woman wishing to explain away a child she'd never planned to conceive," The Fair Fellow's sigh was heavy then, betraying his age. "Mind, I did my job well," He smirks again, "The Faerie Seducer. But I was created by thought and original intend, nothing more, and my people are what humanity wanted them to be. To betray fellow slaves to human need..."

"It's not wholly like that," Again, Steve's the one to assure their target, and Darcy can't help the swelling of pride in her chest. He already knew how to perform on a mission, though. He took the intel, and worked with it, and all with the earnest face, that steady heart which folk like Glen couldn't possibly miss. No Steve wasn't the perfect, flawless, thing people liked to believe in, but he sure had a pure heart, pure intent. People responded to that...even other-worldly people, it turned out. "We're up against beings from other realms, flesh and bone. People like Loki."

"Loki..." That catches the Glanconer, making him take pause, his ageless eyes calculating. "The real Loki, the Original, of Asgard?" To that, Darcy nods, and finds herself the target of the Seducer's full attention. He reaches toward her, hesitant at first, searching her face for permission. Darcy feels Steve's eyes on her as she nods, giving Glen a small smile. He then touches her brow once, frowning, and then tilts his head, his eyes softening, "Oh..." He murmurs, "...Yes, yes Loki of Asgard is quite a different beast, than we of the Other Places."

"He isn't a creation of thought, but him and many like him across the realms are way beyond us, man," Darcy clears her throat, moving closer to Steve's side. "The nature of -those- kinds of tricksters are what SHIELD would like to know."

"Intimately," Steve smirks, surprising Darcy by resting an arm across her shoulder. Always surprising her by how much more perceptive he is than she's given him credit for. Glen nods, thoughtful for a time, looking off toward the door that leads into the greenhouse. Darcy follows his gaze. Within, one of the most beautiful women she's ever seen is tending the plants, her long, softly curling brown hair falling to her waist, her olive skin clear and her eyes wide, lips full. Glen smiles softly, looking on her, his whole face changing.

"My Ofelia," He tells them, quietly, "A Princess of the Underground. And she lowered herself to marry me," He looks back on his guests, waggling those perfect brows, "Love changes one's perspective on so many things, does it not?" Darcy hears Steve clear his throat roughly at that, and smiles to herself, feeling her ears go a bit warm, "...Ah, maybe you don't know it yet. -Asgard-! If such had taken the mind of my Ofelia..." He shakes his head, both awed and a bit intimidated. "Ah, yes, in that case, yes." He turns to Steve, smiling, "Leave a card, I'll get a bloody phone put in and send your people my blasted digits," He smirks.

"That was easier than I figured," Steve grins, wide and untroubled, and Glen seems to be delighted by it, grinning wide now.

"Well, as I said, it's amazing, what having someone to exist for will do to a man," He tilts his head, "I do hope you'll both stay for dinner, yes?"

"Actually, we've a plane to catch, but thank you, truly." Darcy gives him a true smile, rising, before he stops her with a gentle hand, startling her slightly with words she'd last heard in her dreams.

"Don't be afraid, honey," The Glanconer winks.

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	5. Chapter 5

((This'll be the last of the people SHIELD is hunting down purely for 'consultation purposes' for a while, as after this things are gonna get even weirder, and involve a few more...hero-types. Also, I have a warm corgi puppy on my feet. Be jealous.))

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Chapter 5

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They touched down at Dublin International in the wee small hours, swaying past shops getting ready to open for the day, and sleepy janitors. Steve stops for coffee at the freshly-open Starbucks ("In Ireland? MY IMMERSION IS ALREADY RUINED!" Darcy laughs). Not that he's needed caffeine for a while now, but the bracing taste of black coffee in the morning is still how he prefers to start his day. He doesn't miss that Darcy forgoes the brew, staring longingly even at the bags of dark Irish tea as she orders something herbal and gingery.

"I thought everyone in the labs practically lived on coffee," Steve notes, as they continue on through the terminal. Darcy shrugs, eyes caught by a cheesy kiosk selling bobble-heads.

"Not everyone," She replies, vaguely. "Bruce and Tony love their herbal junk. Actually, it was Dr. Banner who turned me on to some of the wacky stuff you can do with tea," She looks back up at him, "He also showed me that a good run, or even a brisk walk in the morning is enough to wake ya up. Caffeine makes me all jittery and weird nowadays."

"Being jittery and hyper-aware was kind of helpful for me, back when I was the scrawny guy," Steve finds himself admitting, as they wait on their luggage. He grins, at her suddenly delighted expression. "Yeah go on, laugh, but it helps, being able to hear the lug with the beefy fists coming."

"Such happy memories you've got, Steve," She laughs, but it's not a mocking sound, especially as she nudges against him with a smile. "Nah, coffee used to make me super-productive and aware too. Then it started making me paranoid and twitchy."

"Yeah, best stick with herbs, then," He gives her what he hopes is an easy, supportive grin. Truth is, Steve is brimming with questions, despite all the ones he's already found himself asking her on this trip. But questions about their job, how exactly she practiced being a Witch, how she was liking New York, and how the hell his iPhone worked were safe, things two people becoming friends would ask each other. Why coffee suddenly made her twitchy, why she'd had to pry a knife out of her headboard this morning, and why she always seemed to be glancing over her shoulder, seemed like things he'd ask later.

Steve did figure, after having her mind taken over, these would seem normal after effects. But if they were, why not just say as such? He knew about that, knew she'd been compromised, she'd told him all that herself a few days ago, and Steve was pretty sure Darcy knew that he was the last guy who'd judge someone for a bit of PTSD. No, it was definitely something more. Maybe something that had happened during. He wanted to know, but looking her over, at the happy 'whoop' she lets out when the turnstyles start buzzing and the bags start moving, Steve is more than all right with waiting. Seeing her smile is much nicer.

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"Oh man," Darcy sighs happily, as they make their way through the streets of Dublin later that day, "I totally lowered my expectations, and I'm glad I did, cause fuck it if this city isn't postcard-perfect," They pass yet another small shop, where she stops to muss with her hat-hair, squinting at her reflection in the large front window. There were bags under her eyes too, despite the nap she'd taken mid-morning at their hotel. All this traveling through nights and across oceans was messing with her a bit, and she was looking forward to spending some solid time in County Kerry over the coming week. Steve, of course, looked no worse for wear.

In fact, Steve looked -good-. Not that his old man clothes didn't always weirdly suit him, but somehow, here in Europe (and maybe especially Dublin, where it seemed like everyone was conservatively well-dressed), his wardrobe fit right in, even as he himself still stood out with those good looks of his. He's in one of his scratchy sweaters today, and wearing the blue scarf she totally knit for him on the train ride across Devonshire. Steve notices her watching him, asking directions from a man on the street, and totally gives her the full grin. Gulp.

"The shop is just down the next street," He tells her, returning to her side, and Darcy yanks her knit cap back on over her smoothed hair and red ears. "Fella seemed surprised I was asking about it, too..."

"It's generally a place women frequent, or so I hear," Darcy smirks, absently rubbing her hands together in their fingerless gloves. Gentleman that he is, Steve immediately reaches over and starts rubbing them for her, only clearing his throat nervously once.

"Why's that? I kinda only skimmed the file on the flight over," He admits, sheepishly, "...And you need a better coat, that thing is falling apart and unless you haven't told me something important, I'm pretty sure that your metabolism don't run fast as mine."

"Well, they kinda cater to women all around," Darcy tells him, biting her lip as the warmth from his hands spreads up her arms, looking down at the way her fingers just disappear into his so easily, "They um, sell women's clothes up front, and out back they tend other needs, also mostly female," She manages a grin, "And this was my dad's coat! Pretty sure it's older than I am."

"I believe it," He chuckles, eying her threadbare elbow patches, and Darcy rolls her eyes, taking a grip on his hand now and tugging him down the indicated, cobbled side street. "I'm just saying! Maybe enshrining it in your home would be better than, I don't know, thinking it'll keep in your body heat, at all."

"Hush up and look pretty, Rogers!"

"Hushing."

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The shop is small and charming, smelling of incense and full of bright, clear light from the big windows. The front is full of clothing on dressforms and hanging thickly on racks, all knitted scarves or swishy, long woven skirts, coats, quilted bags and smartly tailored, if extremely feminine suits. Steve does feel a bit like a bull in a very girly china shop, the bells on the door tinkling behind them as they slip inside. Darcy looks charmed, though, releasing his hand as she looks around, and he misses the contact, more than he probably should.

"May I help you?" A very pretty woman appears, pale, and with ginger hair in a braid that falls almost to her knees. She's full-figured, and young-looking, but Steve knows better than to assume, at this point Her wide green eyes are knowing, the way Mr. Reynard's were, and Angel's almost were. She glances between the two of them, looking a little longer at Steve, and then grins, "Wait, you're the one who called, aye?" She sends to Darcy, who smirks, nodding. "Didn't know you'd be bringin' a big ol' American treat," She sends Steve a wink, and he finds, weirdly, that it doesn't embarrass him. Rather, a warm, homey feeling curls in his chest, and he's smiling.

"Mam." He dips his head. The woman waves a hand, motioning them to follow her behind the racks of clothes, into the further depths of the store.

"Just Rhee. Darcy and Steven, yes?" She lofts a red brow, and Darcy smiles, nodding. "With SHIELD. Big ol' spooky SHIELD." She chuckles. "Come to visit our shop. Bloody nutters."

"Well, you're both good at what you do," Darcy replies, letting out a low whistle, looking around. Steve's right there with her. The walls are lined with shelves, and these are stocked with seemingly endless mason jars on one side, corked glass bottles on the other. Like in the Glanconer's house, bundles of herbs hang from the ceiling, but here in greater profusion, and each is carefully labeled in wide, looping handwriting. Bolts of fabric are propped up near the large back window, and four industrial sewing machines take up a far corner. By one of these, an equally pale, yet black-haired woman sits, intent on her work.

"...So you make all the clothes up front?" Steve asks, impressed, and Rhee smiles wide, nodding, motioning for them to sit at the long table that splits the room in half. It's a rough wooden table that could easily seat two dozen, with long benches, and Darcy grins as they sit, nails scratching at the nicked old wood.

"You stole the kitchen table from Number 12, Grimmauld Place, I'm telling," As usual, Steve doesn't get the reference, but it makes their hostess laugh.

"And a few other things, I'm afraid," She sighs, sitting across from them in front of the mortar and pestle she must have left to receive them. "Our brother said you'd visited him in Devon, by the by," Rhee smirks, glancing between them. In her corner, her sister, who's not yet so much as looked up, snorts. Rhee rolls her eyes, but goes on, "While I can understand what use Glen could be to you, what in the world you'd ever want with two old Irish Witches..."

"SHIELD keeps -me- around," Darcy points out, "And I am way less than you two are, Rhiannon." Steve gives her a smile at that, always kind of amazed at how good she is at handling people on this mission. Rhiannon nods, slowly, smiling as if she's a little impressed as well.

"You might think so," She replies, cryptically, "My question stands, though..."

"You know why they want us," Her sister hisses from her machine, looking up, and Steve can't form a full thought for a moment. Rhee is lovely, but her sister is downright gorgeous, and he can't quite figure out why. Her long black hair is loose around her shoulders, her dark blue eyes fierce, her lips full...it takes him a moment, before he realizes that she somewhat resembles...well, Darcy. Darcy seems to notice this as well, and for some reason, it has her blushing. "They want us for the same reason they've always wanted us."

"Leanan..."

"No, don't try to pretend otherwise," Leanan huffs, shaking her head, a mirthless smile on her lips now, "As always, of course, chaining us in any way will just lead to your burn-out and ruin."

"That's not what SHIELD wants," Steve says quickly, suddenly remembering a key point from their file. "Well. I'm actually pretty sure most everyone would -want- to keep a pair of muses around, especially Tony Stark," He allows, and the admission at least causes Leanan to pause, and her sister to smile, "But they know they can't, that it's in your nature to um...drain folks dry. Just like your brother, all they want is your services as consultants."

"To whom?" Rhiannon tilts her head, looking as if she's already guessed the answer. Darcy smiles again, a little shyly this time.

"Me." She says, simply. "...And I guess, whoever else SHIELD sends to their little supernatural division in the future, but right now that's just...me."

"Hm." Leanan hums, rising swiftly, in a whirl of skirts and long, voluminous hair, moving to sit backwards on their bench, on Darcy's other side, looking into her face hard. Darcy swallows, blinking a few times, but she doesn't back away from Leanan's intense gaze. And...Steve doesn't think he's imagining it, improbable as it is (even after all he's seen), but. She starts looking -more- like Darcy the more he looks, her black hair shot through with brown, her blue eyes lightening a little as she takes Darcy's hand, murmuring a word. "...You have the gift, even if you didn't ask for it," And the elf smiles true, patting her hand, before sweeping up and away, toward the door. "...I don't mind. Now, I'm going to walk until I get my face back." She calls back, easily enough, the door tinkling behind her.

"That's...her way of saying yes," Rhiannon chuckles, shaking her head, her form remaining unchanged, just warm and kind, "And aye, as long as we're not brought in, held down, obliged to your people in -any- way," Her voice is firm, then, "We'll consult. You can even send 'em over here to train. But," She raises a finger, "We'll not be owned, and certainly we won't accept currency."

"Never," Darcy promises, earnestly. This pleases the lady, who rises, leaning across the table to kiss her brow, and to pat Steve's cheek, making him grin again. Beautiful and young as she was, it was like getting a tap from his mom. She turned to her shelves, searching for a while, before plucking up a bottle and pressing it into Darcy's palms.

"This should help you sleep at night," She winks, "And ah, sorry about Lea, and her face. She can't...really help it, like she could back in the old days..."

"Really, it's fine," There's that blush again, as they rise to go. Steve really needed to reread that file when he got back to his hotel room. As it was, on a sudden whim, he grabs a business card as they head out the door. Rhee catches his eye as she does, grinning wide.

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He helps her out of her coat that night, and doesn't give it back, refusing to tell her why. "You'd better not have left it to die in a dumpster in the morning, soldier!" Darcy threatens, but it's half-hearted, because the grin on his face is just too damn adorable.

"Cap's honor," He crosses his heart, before leaving her at her door, her coat over his arm, Darcy watching after him with heavy-lidded eyes. She really didn't want to believe it, but she'd seen the proof all over a faerie seductress' face. He liked her, at least as more than some girl from the offices who was nice to him. And that was...really nice. Darcy wasn't one to be down on herself, she was kind of adorable, if maybe not on Steve's level. If things were different, she'd be all over that revelation.

But things were what they were, and on the inside, she knew that she wasn't anything someone like Captain America should want. She knew the thoughts that had been entertained in her own head, her own heart, months ago. They didn't belong near a good heart.

But thinking this way just wasn't productive, and thus Darcy slams the door shut on those musings, settling in to enjoy her charming little hotel room. She sprinkles a little of Rhiannon's brew into her bedtime cup of tea, and as promised, her nerves unwind, and her busy mind relaxes into pleasant places, like the lovely day spent with a new friend. Darcy drifts off to sleep calmly, and it's the deepest, most refreshing sleep she's had in a while.

In the morning, when she wakes up, her coat is hanging fresh and clean from the knob outside of her door. Smiling wide as she looks it over, a lump rises in her throat when she realizes that the elbow patches have been replaced with bright, cheery fabric from Leanan and Rhee's shop, and the inside has been re-lined, and thickly quilted in more of their colorful textiles, no doubt the seamstress' work. "Damnit, Steve," She sighs, grinning and hugging the old coat to her chest.

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	6. Chapter 6

((I adore Sandman, it runs through my blood. However, there isn't much we know about Daniel-as-Dream, as that happens at the end of the series. So, I've tried to visualize simply a very young Dream, who's still aware of where he came from (and may have some complicated thoughts about Loki). Also, while I adore both comic and movie-verse Hellboy, I like the former's back-story best, and the latter's present story/visuals.))

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Chapter 6

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"Don't mess with me, lady. I've been drinking with skeletons."

~ Hellboy

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Well, that was kind of embarrassing. Leaning back against his headboard, settled in to read after dropping off a certain coat with some kind, witchy ladies, Steve rereads the paragraph in Leanan Sidhe's file again, just to be sure. Apparently, back in the day, she'd willingly take on the likeness of her target's beloved, like a good and proper trickster slash seductress slash muse. In recent years, as the modern world and the needs of people changed, she somehow became unable to control the ability. Steve winces, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. It was like having your diary or something, written all over someone's face. He imagined it had to be much worse for Leanan, though.

Oh well, there were worse things, Steve mused. Now that he thinks back, though, it's kind of surprising that Darcy hadn't teased him left right and center over it. Nope, she'd just turned red and hadn't mentioned a thing. He wasn't an expert on gals by a long shot, but that was kind of interesting...

But tomorrow was a long day, one to rest up for, and Steve had been rationing his sleep lately, listening through walls at the noise Darcy usually made in hers. It had alarmed him at first, before he realized that it wasn't as loud to others as it probably was to him. Still, her startled, sleep-addled gasps and groans had bothered him, and he'd found himself staying awake to listen, making sure it didn't get worse. It was nearing 1am though, and not a peep from next door tonight. Perhaps Rhee's brew had done the trick. Steve hoped so, she'd been looking so tired in the mornings.

Not that his sleep was especially peaceful most nights either, but Steve had gotten used to the snow, wind, and his white-clad spectre. He kind of looked forward to it tonight, even, slipping under the covers once he'd convinced himself that Darcy was fine, shutting his eyes tightly.

Steve Dreams.

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The path through the snow is the same as ever, though now the horizon is touched with deepest green, and honestly, Steve is a little disappointed in his subconscious, yet again. Was he really that uncreative, asleep? He certainly wasn't awake, his drawings were definitely fair and imaginative. Maybe his waking mind had just gotten all the talent, and his dreams were left all the cliches, like walking through the snowy wasteland toward the last place on earth where he had family. Oh well.

Even so, the figure watching, pale skin, white hair, white robes, black eyes, is something Steve knows he's never dreamed up, and yet he's been there for days now, always on the periphery. This time, though, he finds himself aware, lucid, able to stop in his journey, and look his visitor full in the face. The man's face is young, an older teenager's face. The eyes Steve looks into, however, are fathomless, without iris or whites, simply black pools of night, with perhaps stars scattered beyond.

"..Who are you?"

"Hello, Steven Rogers," The man greets him, "I...hm. I go by many names, many shapes. You've known me since you were small, without realizing it. I am the Lord of this Realm, Morpheus, King of The Dreaming. You may call me Daniel, though, if a more familiar name seems comfortable." At that, Steve has to cock a brow.

"...How's that work, eh? If this is all happening in -my- dreams, how are you a Lord?"

"Your Dreaming takes you to -the- Dreaming." The man might have smiled, maybe. "And the Dreaming is my realm."

"...If that's true, why're you hanging around in -my- dreams, of all people's?" Cap looks around, as the blizzard eases, leaving a chill, calm glacier. It was easy, he mused, to accept things in a dream. Man said he was the King of Dreams, well, all right, "...Don't tell me you collected my trading cards too?"

"No, alas, I was imprisoned for a good seventy years as well," This time the man -definitely- smiles, and Steve blinks, tilting his head, caught on that interesting fact. "And unlike yourself, I was awake for it...no, I once heard about you from a friend. You watched after stray cats as a child, didn't you?"

Steve staggers a bit at that. Dream or not, that was specific. "...Well, yeah," He clears his throat, "We were poor, and I was allergic, so we couldn't -keep- any pets when I was a kid, but...I'd set out food, see that mothers with kittens were somewhere safe from the neighborhood bullies...how did you...?"

"My friend saw you, and appreciated it, appreciated your kindness to her people. She said you were a very good person, so I dropped by one night, and found myself fascinated...this snow is less than comforting to you though, I imagine." The Lord Shaper glances about, "...Since you've decided to speak to me, though, I'll convey a message. You'll meet a young woman in your travels soon, named Nuala. Tell her..." The man thinks for a moment, "Tell her that, Lord Shaper remembers her."

"Um...will do, pal." Steve goes with it, offering a shrug and a friendly smile. Hey, imaginary people in dreams deserved his good manners too, he figured. The man nods.

"Thank you..." He looks Steve over again, and those eyes...Steve shook his head, because those eyes were almost too much to look at, too deep, too old. Dream smiles again, faintly, "...I had to be unmade, and made again, after my seventy years, Steven Rogers. Sometimes, it is simply what you must do."

He's gone in a swirl of snow and dust, leaving Cap to puzzle through his own head.

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"You're sneaky." Darcy informs Cap the next morning, when they meet downstairs for an early breakfast. They're taking a rental car to Tralee in County Kerry, and Darcy's not one for driving on an empty stomach. Her nausea worked a little backwards like that. Cap shrugs, nodding to where her coat hangs off the back of her chair.

"Warmer though now, I take it?" He asks, a wee bit smug as he tucks into the basket of scones and the pot of hot, dark coffee set on their table. Darcy tries valiantly to keep her expression annoyed, eyes narrowed, but it's difficult. Especially with how obnoxiously fresh he looks in the morning. She'd looked in the mirror herself today, though, and even before slapping on a little makeup, Darcy looks much more rested than she has in weeks.

"Haven't given it a test drive yet, but I guess we'll find out soon." She gives him a real smile then, biting her lip gently, "...Thanks Steve, that was really nice of you..." Cap waves a hand though, grinning, and she can tell he's pleased that she's pleased.

"Don't mention it. Besides, they'd never let me hear the end of it, if I let you freeze on my watch." He gives her a wink, "Pretty sure you wouldn't keep like I did either, left on ice."

"Look at you, already cracking jokes about yourself," Darcy chuckles.

"Growin' every day."

Darcy's not sure how much Cap will appreciate her driving skills. Not that she's a bad driver, and she's really good with driving on the -wrong- side of the road. Nah, Darcy just knows how chatty she can get on a roadtrip, playing her music too loud and getting way too excited about the scenery and landmarks. But after the first half hour of her belting along off-key with Florence Welch and exclaiming endlessly over how green everything -actually- is (no shit, she was pretty sure, before this trip, that most pictures of Ireland had to be photoshopped), Steve seems to be enjoying himself. Or maybe she's free entertainment for the man. Darcy's all right either way.

She babbles on about how her father took her to France when she was fifteen and taught her to drive, how her mom raises Alpacas in California now and is scared to death of driving. Steve surprises her by mentioning how he's always been more comfortable on his motorcycle than driving a car, himself, and how great it would be to take the bike through a place like this. Then Darcy's asking a thousand questions because, hello, Cap on a -bike-. Delicious. And then they're talking about driving in New York, and then living in New York, and he's telling her about his mom and the postcards they'd buy and send to the family in Ireland, and Darcy's telling him about all the cheesy souvenirs she had in her bedrooms in Sacramento and Vancouver, all Hollywood bobbleheads and orange boxes up in Canada, Moose and maple leaves and hockey posters in California.

Four hours pass by really quickly, this way. They don't go too deep, grazing over sad subjects...implications of how hard it was to see his mother sick, how much she couldn't bear seeing her own father weaker and weaker from chemo every time she went to visit for a long weekend. They're not quite ignoring them, but knowing that the moments of pain that flicker through their eyes and a soft smile, a hand on an arm, is enough acknowledgment.

No they don't really talk about anything deep, but they sure get to know each other, Darcy's jaw dropping when Steve starts belting along with Dog Days Are Over.

Too soon, she approaches the stretch of County Kerry, before Tralee, where she needs to slow down and keep an eye out for a certain exit, "Have you done your homework on this guy? And his...well, family?" Darcy asks Steve, as they leave highways and pavement for winding dirt roads through the countryside. He nods, grinning.

"Even before this mission, actually," He tells her, "The name kind of caught my eye in SHIELD's records. Didn't know 'til now though that's he's actually...well..."

"Son of a demon prince? Yup," Darcy nods, "He's also half-human, though, his mother was a Witch," She grins, "And supposedly a descendant of Morgana le Fay. Dude's got a lot of drama going on in his blood line...so, you know, you can kinda forgive the guy for being a little on the gruff side. He's definitely one of the good guys, though."

"That I don't argue," Steve nods, as the road takes them near a deserted stretch of shoreline, but for a medium-sized stone house, with its own dock out into the sea, "But, he left the last organization he was affiliated with, what makes SHIELD think he'll want to join them?"

"Taking a long shot?" Darcy shrugs, still grinning as they pull up before the house, "Besides, while we're kind of a different sort of evil, as I understand it, BPRD wanted to keep Hellboy hidden away from the public, control his life and possibly stamp out a lot of the supernatural folks that weren't actually threats, just...weird, and unpredictable. So he left on principle." She approaches the door, Steve looming and attentive behind her, "...Meanwhile, SHIELD's cool with a giant green rage monster showing up on the evening news, as long as he smashes bad guys, not good guys."

"Point," Steve grins back, as she knocks.

A dark-haired woman opens the door, brows up. She looks...well, totally normal, all in slim jeans and an oversized sweater. Until Darcy reminds herself that she's pyrokenetic. "Can I help yo..." She pauses, blinking at Steve, and Darcy can actually see the moment when Elizabeth Sherman's eyes go guarded and hard, even as she keeps a smile in place. "...Captain America's on my front step." She looks to Darcy again, tilting her head. "If you're with the BPRD, I'm shutting the door now." She says it politely, though, and Darcy decides she really likes this chick.

"Nope!" Darcy says brightly, putting on the genuine charm as she flashes her badge, "SHIELD, actually. Darcy Lewis, this here's Steve...We were hoping to talk to you and the big guy."

"Hmm. That's a new one...we did wonder if we'd see someone coming around, after New York was all over the news. All right, come on in," Liz smirks, stepping aside to let them inside, into the low hallway. "He's out back fishing, this way...and please keep it down, the kids are napping upstairs." A cat curls around Steve's ankles as they follow, and another watches from the stairs, a third lurking by the kitchen door as Liz leads them outside again. Darcy resists the urge to make friends with each and every one of them. Barely. Kitties!

Big Red is sitting contentedly on the dock, in a long brown leather coat, over a downright native wool sweater. His cigar is sending a halo of smoke around his head, but at the sound of approaching feet on the wooden planks, he hastily puts it out. "You don't fool me, big guy," Liz grins, nudging his leg with her booted foot. "We've got company."

"Yeah?" He turns, looking them over. "...Holy crap, it's Cap." Darcy wills Steve not to stare too long at the filed-down horns. She doesn't have to worry though, as he's the consummate gentleman. At least when dealing with people in this kind of capacity.

"Sir," He reaches out, unfazed, at least outwardly, shaking hands with Hellboy himself, "Steve Rogers, this is Darcy Lewis, we're with SHIELD."

"Tryin' to get me back in the world?" Red flicked his cigar away, and Darcy noted Steve's half-contained amusement at that. "SHIELD, is that the same old ball'n chain with a new name?"

"We don't have any ties with the BPRD," Darcy repeats herself. Liz takes up position by her guy's shoulder, not saying anything, but listening closely, arms crossed. "...In fact you were kinda dismissed outright for the Avengers Initiative." She can't help grinning when Red does, because come'on, -Hellboy-. And it's not like the Avengers are a big secret in and of themselves anymore.

"I hear a big ol' butt comin', though." Red recasts his line.

"...But," Steve clears his throat, hands in his pockets, looking properly sheepish, "Lately we've been dealing with a lot of ...hocus-pocus, y'might say." Red chuckles.

"Yeah? Iron Man's armor not quite cuttin' it against tooth fairies?" Steve can only blink at that, "You got my sympathy Cap, really, I know what a pain in the ass fighting that shit can be. But bein' caged, owned, and prodded is way worse."

"SHIELD isn't about hiding you," Darcy tells him, "We've got the Hulk on our side, man, and he comes and goes as he wants. All of 'em do," She glances at Steve, smirking, "SHIELD...and more to the point, The Avengers, just want to know if you, both of you, will be on call the next time evil comes knockin'. Cause we need you, you've battled this crap before, and you know how their kind of evil thinks and fights."

Liz and Red share a long look. Darcy watches, unabashedly fascinated at how the pair communicates silently, Liz's hand resting on Hellboy's ginormous shoulder. This was a couple who'd been around each other a long time, been in all kinds of trouble together already. It was an easy closeness, and despite Liz Sherman's dubiousness about them, and Hellboy being...well, a big half-demon...Darcy found that it warmed her insides. At last, he sighs, shaking his head. "I dunno, kids. I'm kind of a father now..." He glances into the ocean, suddenly, calling out, "Wha'dya think, Abe?!"

Above her, Darcy sees Steve's brow furrow, just before the surface of the water breaks, and a fish-like, humanoid head pops up, wide eyes blinking, thoughtfully. "Up to you, big guy. Myself, though, I feel compelled to say yes..." Darcy grins. Wellp, that's another stop they won't need to take, if Abe Sapien is visiting his buddy for the weekend. "If I know my privacy can be assured otherwise, yes?"

"As much as forever being on government radar is private, yeah," Steve gathers himself and admits, honestly, "World really needs us, so, it's worth putting up with some stuff."

"Maybe, especially if you're not lookin' to own us," Hellboy sighs again, reaching up to rub his eyes, as Liz rubs his shoulders, "I wanna do good by the world, kids, don't think I don't. But again, I got the kids to think of. This a standing offer? Cause the Lady and I prolly need a few days, talk it over..."

"Of course," Darcy nods, quick to reassure them both, "I'll leave you all the files and contact information, and the two of us will be in country for a couple of weeks too." Liz seems to ease then, her smile a bit more genuine as Red nods, approvingly.

"Right then," He stands, slowly, surpassing Steve in height as he does, the big red half-demon grinning wide now, "...Wanna stay for lunch? We've got a fish fry on." At that, Abe shudders, disappearing back under the water. Steve chuckles, glancing to Darcy, who shrugs.

"We're in no hurry today!" She grins, so ready for this visit to stop being about business because, seriously, this lot was cool.

They spend a weirdly pleasant midday meal in the cottage, the fish fresh and delicious, and Liz much warmer and more open, without business looming over their heads. Before long Steve finds himself covered in both cats and two small, black-haired four-year-olds, sporting pairs of wee horns and adorable grins. Darcy can't help grinning around her tea, watching Captain America trying to fend off exuberant pre-schoolers, whilst getting sage advice from their dad.

"I respect you, Cap, I really do," Big Red was saying, "But fighting this kind of bad guy's different. Can't just be the stronger brute all the time, or even the more righteous brute. Ya fight these kinds of things with weird logic and under-handed deals, puzzle-solving and promises, and using their own magical loopholes against 'em...eh, you'll see," He waved his giant hand, "It'll involve getting' some dirt on that shiny shield a'yers, though, that I can promise." Steve shrugs, slipping one of his cookies to the twins.

"Eh, it's already not nearly as squeaky-clean as folks seem to think it is..."

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	7. Chapter 7

((As someone who's got photographic evidence of family, cousins, all going back quite a ways, I can tell you that physical features creepily carry. I'm basically a carbon copy of my maternal grandmother, with my dad's eyes. My little brother is a clone of our great-great uncle, with a vaguely different forehead and smile. It's mind-boggling! And yes, one beer or glass of wine a day is absolutely all right when you're pregnant, after the first trimester anyway (trust the girl from the huge Irish/French family). More than that, is what courts trouble!))

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Chapter 7

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"I am a victim of your carnivorous lunar activities."

~ An American Werewolf in London

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Tralee was picturesque, to say the least. Steve couldn't help himself, leaning against the windows to see the buildings, the colorful and/or stone houses, the quaint businesses down the main streets. It was pretty enough, but he knew the stirring in him was more over the fact that this was the almost mythical township to which he'd sent so many postcards as a child. In these streets, his relatives still walked, his father's kin. His mothers' people were Austrian, and Steve hoped to see those little towns someday, too. Today, though, his eyes were full of Tralee.

"Your cousin's grandson knows we're coming, by the way," Darcy informs him, as they navigate through the streets, and Steve blinks at her in surprise. The younger agent grins, a little sheepishly, "I uh, sorta called ahead. I couldn't wait."

Steve laughs, shaking his head, biting his lip as he looks at her sideways, grinning. She looks so short and small, behind the wheel, and kind of adorable, too. "He uh, wanna meet me at all?"

"Course, or I wouldn't have mentioned it!" Darcy smiles, mischievously, "And we're here for a while, too. Got a Troll Market to crash,some werewolves to track down and make nice with, plus various other weirdness and shit scattered over the county. So catching dinner with your people isn't hardly a thing!"

"We're meeting him tonight?" Steve picked up on her implication. It was surprisingly easy to pick up on Darcy's round about way of breaking news, at least after a few solid days in her company. Darcy seemed impressed, squinting a little as she sent him a grin.

"Maaaaybe, if you're a good boy and mind your manners," She jokes, pulling into the lot outside of their rather nice hotel as she does. Steve figures that SHIELD must be feeling extra nice, or maybe they just acknowledged that their agents would be here for longer than a couple of days. Either way, it's more giant, photogenic stone house than hotel. Til now, they've stayed in nicely European, yet clearly budget digs.

"I'll do my best, -mam-," Steve smirks, as they leave the rental car. He's satisfied that it earns him a purse-thwap to the arm.

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Back during the war, Rebecca Rogers got married to her sweetie, James Ryan, just before he shipped out, and also lost all contact with her cousin Steven in America at around the same time. A while later, when word of her dearest Jim was sparse, she began seeing Steven all over newsreels from the States, at picture shows and on newsstands, in the comic books she bought for kicks. He was bigger than he'd described in letters when they were younger, now, and a downright hero. Jim would write her about how Captain America had saved him and a slew of other soldiers from a Nazi camp, and Becca would send back a letter, too late for him to pass on regards, that he'd just met her cousin Steven.

After the war, and the supposed death of Captain America, Jim and Becca settled in Tralee and raised two children, Chelsea and Steven Ryan. Chelsea's George died in a riot in Dublin before they ever had a chance to have children, and she'd been on her own ever since. Steven married a girl from good ol' Tralee, Mary, and they went on to have Brigid, James II, and Michael. Eventually, after James Sr.'s death at the ripe age of 90, Becca moved out to quiet, removed Fenit, Chelsea following her. A heart attack took Steven, but his youngest son, Michael Steven Ryan, remained in Tralee, marrying a hometown girl like his father and grandfather had.

All this Darcy explains to Steve on the way to the small pub near their converted boarding house of a hotel, grinning to herself over how he seems to hang on every rambling word. It was a lot of names and dates to follow, but Cap had committed them all to memory and repeated them back to her, before they even sat down. "How is it you're so freakin' good at -everything-, Steve?" Darcy asks, ordering them two pints. Not that it does much for Steve, but she's introduced him to the taste of Guinness, and it agrees with him. Naturally, as it must be all the green in his blood.

"Not nearly," He shakes his head firmly, raising a hand in protest even, "Memorizing stuff has always come easy for me, is all." He looks her over, smirking slightly, "Ask me to drive on the other side of the road, though, and I'd be hopeless. S'like rocket science to me."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Rogers," Darcy winks, proud when she makes him sputter a little into his beer. That is, of course, the moment when his cousin and his wife enter the pub, only having to look around once before spotting Captain America. On the whole, Europe has been pretty indifferent to Steve, unless in direct contact with him. It's been a far cry from New York City, anyway, where Darcy's noticed he's pretty much taken to living between his apartment and Stark Tower, rarely pausing in between (it's harder to swamp a moving target for autographs). If you're actually looking for the man, he stands out easily enough, and dark-haired Michael approaches with a hesitant grin.

"Cap'n Rogers," He offers a hand, and Steve hastily stands to shake it, gentleman that he is.

"Just Steve..." The two men stare at each other for a long moment, and Darcy can see why. At first glance, they're very different, dark vs. blonde, average height vs. over six foot. But at second glance, their eyes are strikingly similar, as well as their profiles. 'Holy crap', Darcy thinks, seeing it more and more as she looks, 'they've got the same freaking nose.' Steve seems to be seeing things even beyond that, though, even after they both snap out of it.

"My wife, Alison," Michael's smile widens, drawing a chair at their table for the pretty, pregnant redhead at his side. They both look to be around Steve's age, in their late 20s, and Darcy has to wonder how weird that is for him.

"Darcy Lewis, with SHIELD," She jumps in to add, as Steve hesitates over who to introduce her as. She can practically see the words ticking through his eyes. 'Friend...coworker...pretty girl.' Handshakes follow all around, and then the short, only vaguely awkward pause as everyone sits, and glances at each other.

"...I'm sorry, s'just," Steve shakes his head, attempting to keep himself from staring, "...You look exactly like my father. Hair's darker, and maybe a little different around the mouth, but..." Michael laughs, nodding.

"No, I've heard that plenty, he and yer uncle were identical twins, iffin ye didn't know," His accent is almost too thick for Darcy to catch every word. He links hands with his wife, the two of them seeming to share a private joke for a moment, grinning, "...Gram's head is as keen as ever, but she jokes m'face alone is gonna turn her senile, and she'll start callin' me Da." The young man bites his lip, the slight grin on his face never really leaving, "It's mad to meet ya, truly. I mean that kindly, s'just, ye've kinda been the family legend, cousin."

"It's funny, because Becca was the same to me as a kid," Steve grins right back, and Darcy notes that both she and Alison relax their shoulders at the same moment, when the boys settle into easy conversation, "Living in the less-nice parts of Brooklyn, I imagined Tralee as someplace from a storybook."

"It is the best place on Earth, dunnae let anyone tell ye different."

Food gets ordered, along with more beer, and Darcy is content to spend most of their dinner just listening, as the cousins get to know each other, Steve asking a thousand questions about the rest of the family, Michael answering jovially, and shooting back questions about Old New York vs. New-New York. A botanist, Alison answers Darcy's questions about the surrounding countryside, which they'll be traversing soon enough for work. Alison is reserved, but in a sweet way, a nice compliment to her husband's wry and outgoing personality. Darcy can just see Steve melting into a puddle of happy goo over the whole thing. She tries to imagine what it must be like, going from 'Everyone I Know Is Dead' to 'Half of County Kerry Is Kind Of Related To Me.'

"So," Michael says, at length, as their empty plates of shepherd's pie and gravy are cleared away, and everyone but Alison is into their third pints (She did have -one-, though. 'A beer a day is nae harm, and he'll be properly watered!'), "Said y'two work together, and work brought ye out this way..." He licks his lips, the grin oddly gone from his expressive face. Now, the Irishman looks a bit hesitant, glancing up at Steve and Darcy in turn, a vague, almost hopeful look in his blue eyes, "..Can I ask what kind of work?"

Darcy looks to Cap, who's already looking her way, the two of them debating silently over how much they're supposed to let on. It surprises her, how easily Steve reads her, and her untroubled shrug. In her periphery, she spots Alison taking her husband's hand up again. "Well, we're rustling up new...business partners, if you follow," Darcy looks around, meaningfully, even though the pub is sparsely populated tonight, "Steve and his ...buddies, need friends all over the place, using their own talents, you see."

Michael nods to that, looking up at Steve this time, his voice appropriately low, "...And eh, the Green fella? People all right with him around?" Steve's eyes narrow in thought, as if trying to puzzle out where his cousin was going, but he nods, smiling.

"Well, I mean, Bruce kinda makes people who don't know him uncomfortable. And he -is- a little volatile, in certain situations." Steve shrugs, "But I know the man well now, know he's got his thing under control, and saving New York made him just as much of a hero to people." Michael listens, nodding, flexing the fingers on his free hand a few times.

"...Things is," He says at last, "I mean, not that I think I'm...I'm nowhere near what ye...well," He winces, shutting his eyes, "Backin' up. I got m'self a condition. It's made findin' work hard, havin' to take off the time that I do, travel outta town every month, like I do..." Alison squeezes his hand, "...We got a baby on th' way too, and Ali's the only one workin' right now. I dunnae wanna be imposin' on you, just as I met you, but...if yer people can hire someone who turns into that fella, then maybe I wouldn't be such a stretch..."

"...What kind of condition?" Steve asks, frowning now, and even Darcy's a little surprised. Nothing out of the ordinary had been in his family line, and believe you me, Darcy thinks, SHIELD had kept an eye out, at least from afar. Steve's genetics were kind of a big deal to them.

"Well, Cap..." Michael winces, running a hand through his hair, "Fact is, your cousin's grandson has a bit of a...furry little problem."

"...No," Darcy shakes her head, making Steve blink in utmost confusion, "No, you did NOT just quote Harry Potter."

"I really need to read those books." Steve grumbles, smirking again, "...Furry problem?"

"..Remember what I told you, about the -certain folk- we'd be tracking down while we were here?" Darcy nudges him with her elbow. In the few seconds it takes for Steve to return to their conversation in the car, and then for his jaw to drop, Darcy leans forward, looking at Michael sharply, "You're not registered! I didn't see your name anywhere on the list SHIELD sent me! And believe me, I was looking, just in case I had to break the news to Steve that a family member was a little hairier than normal."

"Have ye -met- the tossers who register, yet?" Michael cringes, shaking his head, "Most of 'em leave their towns, live out like nutters in the woods, run in packs when the moon comes 'round..." He huffs, his accent even thicker when he's worked up, "Nae, I may have it down somewheres that I am what I am, but I'll not have it down that I was a beast. I can live an' work jest fine, an' I know who I am, what I'm doin' when I'm...furry. I'm a fuckin' engineer, I know shifters inside and out, I could do real good somewhere it's all right." He gives Steve a hopeful look then, and oh Cap, he can't help but smile.

"Well, if anyone's got pull back home, it's me," He says easily, and without ego. Darcy nudges him again, this time affectionately.

"They're just building up the um...well, hocus-pocus-y division too," She tells him, "Which, right now, consists of me, and scattered consultants. So really, I think anyone who actually -wants- to work at the actual offices would be welcome. No solid promises, but..." One look at Ali and her hopeful face, though, tells Darcy that she'll be racking up a phone bill on SHIELD's tab tonight, wheedling at Coulson. There were gonna be babies with Rogers genetics to be financially supported, here.

"Just knowin' you'll put in a word means a lot, friend," Michael reached over with his free hand, clapping Steve's shoulder. "Tell 'em I'm willin' even to move, Gran says she'd welcome the fresh New York City postcards, hers are a wee bit worn out." That gets Steve chuckling again, shaking his head in fresh disbelief. Darcy just wraps her arms around herself, grinning as she watches him, too happy and having seen too much to be weirded out by having a werewolf for a cousin.

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They part ways with Steve's relatives around ten, walking the sort stretch of sidewalk back to their hotel close together. Steve knows he's rambling to Darcy, and all about stuff that she'd just been right there to witness, but he can't help himself. He hasn't felt this good in a long time, and it's a feeling that's been building over the past week, despite all the weirdness they've experienced. He does manage to process that Darcy's shoulders feel much more insulated in her coat now, but that doesn't stop Steve from keeping a warm arm around her. He's a happy man, and he's always been much bolder when he's happy.

"And you're the one who's done it all," He tells her, grinning, as they slip inside the old converted boarding house, heading for the stairs, "Got in touch with 'em, might even have spared me some moping if they hadn't wanted to meet me..."

"You're giving me way too much credit again, Cap," Darcy protests, even though she's chuckling, heading down the hall to her door. "SHIELD kept 'em on file, I just had the brilliantly obvious idea that you could take advantage of this trip, while we're here." With only a moment's hesitation, Steve follows her, stepping close as she rummages through her coat pockets for her room key.

"Still, not everyone would have that thought, especially at SHIELD, where it's all business, the mission..." He licks his lips, looking down at her as she looks up, eyes wide and surprised, though her lips quirk in a wry smile. "You're...you're a real sweet gal, Miss Lewis. In fact I've ah, kinda thought you were a sweet gal for a while now," Steve clears his throat, and she's not moving away, and her eyes are on his mouth, and he's pretty sure he's getting much better at reading cues, limited experience be damned.

"Proves how well you know me," She jokes in a murmur, even as she takes a step forward, wrapping her hands up in the ends of his scarf, and Steve doesn't need any further cue than that, barely half a second behind her, resting a hand at the back of her neck and slanting his lips against hers. They're just as soft and sweet as he's always imagined they'd be, and his eyes shut as she tugs him down closer to her level, standing on her toes to kiss him back, tasting like Guinness and her Coke-flavored lipsmackers...

And then, just as eagerly as she'd begun, she yanks herself back, shaking her head, releasing his scarf, and Steve staggers a little, blinking. Darcy covers her eyes with one hand, and in his confusion, Steve sees that the sapphire on her finger is glowing, a bright, vivid blue, and it brings him sharply into focus. "...I, I'm sorry if that was outta line, I uh..." He reaches up, running a hand through his hair, eyes fixed on that small light. "...Darcy...?"

"No, no, you're fine," She draws a shaky breath, her hand dropping, her eyes opening, looking at him steadily. He can see the blush high in her cheeks, though, her swollen lips, and it's pretty on her and he can't help the longing in his smile, wanting to be kissing her again. "...Aaaand I've wanted to do that for a while too, just..." She winces again, taking his hand. The glow in her ring slowly starts to fade. "...Come on in, I gotta...tell you some stuff."

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	8. Chapter 8

((I've stated my feelings on Loki elsewhere. Basically, I love him as a character, he's brilliant, and brilliantly written/acted. I do not ship him at this point in the film verse, though. Not dissing anyone else for enjoying a ship, of course not, it's just not for me! I'd ramble about my feelings on romanticizing someone who's okay killing innocent people (BEFORE the Avengers), but that's what Tumblr is for ;) Basically, I don't want anyone to think I'm considering him any less complex in this story, just because we're seeing him in glimpses through the eyes of someone very hurt by his selfish actions. Loki is like ogres and ogres are like onions. Or something.))

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Chapter 8

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"O never give the heart outright,  
For they, for all smooth lips can say,  
Have given their hearts up to the play.  
And who could play it well enough  
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?  
He that made this knows all the cost,  
For he gave all his heart and lost..."

~ Yeats

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_Darcy dreamed about that moment almost every night. Unlike other images, unlike her dream of the strange woman who'd been Junie, there was no fiction to these dreams. They were starkly real memories, that moment between coming back to her own mind, and still having The Witch inside of her head. Jane was still bleeding from Darcy's failed (thank gods) attempt to slit her throat, pressing a towel to her neck. But the physicist didn't seem overly concerned, she was too busy crying over the thrashing, snarling form of her assistant, held down at shoulders and feet by Sif and Hogun, respectively._

"_Darcy, Darcy it's me, please, PLEASE hear me in there..." _

_'JANE!' She was screaming inside of her head. What came out of her mouth, though, were garbled curses originally from Loki's lips, hissed out as she arched up off the floor, "She's mine, and Thor's piece of cunt won't be enough to get her back." 'NO, NO, JANE I'M IN HERE! DON'T STOP!' Hogun was chanting something at her feet, while Sif was pressing something hard against her brow, almost breaking the skin. A blue gem on a silver ring. Somewhere, distantly, she could hear the sounds of fighting, Thor's lightening and thunder shaking the building, driving back Malekith's soldiers._

"_Darcy..." Jane whispered now, firmly gripping one of the girl's hands in both of hers, staring defiantly into her eyes, even as her own were swimming with tears, "Darcy I know you're in there, that you can hear me. I know I've been hard on you, and I know you've been through a lot. But you're my best friend, Darcy," Jane's voice cracked, and Hogun's chanting got louder in her ears, Sif's ring sharper on her forehead, a trickle of blood running into her temple, and it felt as if every inch of Darcy's skin was burning, "I love you. Thor and Erik love you. Your mom loves you, and needs you. And I'm not letting Loki, or that bitch, have you." _

_Pain burst through every nerve ending, but Darcy found herself welcoming it, screaming, feeling The Witch burning away inside of her head. And then blackness._

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Kissing Steve was ten shades of awesome, and Darcy had totally managed to shut off her twitchy, nagging inner voices to just bliss out on those seconds of his firm, warm mouth on hers. Sure, reality came crashing back into her head swiftly, but it had been a lovely slice of happiness. Darcy really liked this guy, good looks aside. Working around Superheroes made one kind of immune to near-blinding attractiveness, much as he still caught her off-guard with it sometimes. No, Steve was also good, and kind, and yeah a little sad, brooding, but the kind of brooding that made her want to crack jokes until he smiled again. Not the kind that destroyed worlds in its wake.

Which is why, when her brain kicks back in, she doesn't tuck tail and run, just takes his hand in hers and tugs him into her room, because he deserves more than her skittish avoidance. "Tea?" She asks, steadying her breath and taking off her wonderfully soft, warm, refurbished coat and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. Steve settles into the old-fashioned, high-backed armchair next to the desk, nodding to her as she moves around the small range in the corner, his big hands awkward on his knees. Darcy sighs, shaking her head.

"Sorry, I know I'm a huge weirdo," She murmurs, putting on the kettle and looking back at him. Steve's eyes were suddenly on the dagger stuck in her headboard, trying and failing to keep in a rather ironic smirk. "...I can explain, though..."

"I'm...all ears," He looks back to her, and Darcy blows out a long breath, walking over and sitting on the very edge of her bed, directly across from him, folding her hands over her knees and staring at the way her fingers link together for a few moments.

"So, like I said, I kinda got my head invaded a few months back, by the departed soul of one of Loki's pals. What I kinda left out, though, was that um, she'd been a lover of his," She glances up at him, through her protective curtain of long dark hair, but Steve's still just looking at her, unwinding his scarf and settling back a little, as if he's ready to listen to a long tale. "A Witch, from Asgard, nowhere near as badass as that Sorceress bitch Thor's told me about, but she sure had a lot of snark and bitchiness to her...looked a little like me, too, which is probably why I was a nice, convenient vessel..." She winces, shaking her head, "...Anyway. Her hold on me was shaky, at first. Loki caught me, he summoned her into me, but apparently I have a really stubborn, possessive brain. Sometimes she'd be in control, but more often than not I'd fight her off and shut her the hell up."

"Of course you did," Steve grins, and it warms someplace in Darcy's chest, making her smile in spite of herself, eying him a little shyly even. She was peeling back her skin, here, and letting him see the raw, damaged nerves underneath, so, seeing that open expression on his face was good, encouraging.

"Yeah, man, I cursed both of 'em the hell out, those first few days," She chuckles, "Beat my fists against the cell he kept me in, had fuckin' arguments with myself, calling -her- all kinds of names..." Darcy licks her lips, "...I'm not Natasha, though. I'd never taken the kind of verbal torture Loki doles out...one minute showing you this vicious monster who's murdered people bloodily, and the next...this conflicted, vulnerable jerk who's gotten himself in way over his head with dark power." She shuts her eyes, "...And I got tired, sometimes. My head was killing me. I had to sleep. I couldn't fight The Witch off, 24/7. So she'd eventually win out, for a little while. He'd send her, in my body, to cast the spells he needed, trying to get through the Bunker in Tromso, to get to Jane and the...the thing they're working on. I'd fight her off...but after a week, Steve, I was just -so- tired, my head was fucking burnt out," She swallows, dropping her head in her lap for a while. She feels his tentative, gentle touch on her hair, and then the kettle begins to whistle.

"...So you began to lose ground?" Steve clears his throat, watching her closely as she rises and makes them both tea. Darcy can feel his eyes on her, and they're warm, not judging. She likes it, she decides, this room suddenly feeling safer than most places have.

"Often," She hands him his mug of sleepy-time, "I'd still be in there, though, watching as he...and they..." Darcy sighs, "Well, let's just say those crazy kids had one helluva reunion, once he knew she had a firm grasp on me." That's when Steve's face goes stony, pausing as he's bringing his tea up to his lips, his other hand gripping the armrest hard. "And that...that wasn't even the worst. I thought it was...actually it made me angrier than anything else. No, what finally, thoroughly fucked with my head was how my thoughts and hers began to merge," Darcy bites her lip hard, "He'd lavish her with his obsessive affections...and then, when I would finally fight her off, he'd look at me as if I were filth. And that, that began to...bother me." Her voice cracks there, even as her narrative picks up steam, "I thought, he only loves me as her. And it began to make me ACHE, and I HATE that it did!" She suddenly snarls, gripping her mug almost too hard. If she were like Cap or Thor, it'd probably crack, "I...I'm a good person, Steve. Or, I was a good person. But our minds began to merge and I didn't know which thoughts were hers and what were mine, what lusts, what...what HATE for the people I loved...you'd think it'd be obvious, and I don't know how to describe it to you, genuinely FEELING those things when you don't want to..."

"No," Steve startles her by finally breaking out of his revere, "No I don't understand it, how you could think that hating Thor or Jane came from your own head..."

"Because I started to want him," Darcy confesses in a whisper, "I know he messed with my head, I can...can step back and articulate all this self-analytical, detached shit about Stockholm syndrome, victim grooming, subconsciously pitting me again the other woman, all that...but I can't help blaming myself for almost opening my best friend's throat, because...because in that moment, both The Witch -and- I wanted to please him."

There's silence, for a while, over that one, and Darcy's pretty sure, at least for a few seconds, that she's killed whatever he might have been feeling for her.

But then, Cap's hands are sliding over hers, and Darcy risks a glance up, sniffing, willing herself not to shed anymore salt water. It's difficult, though, when Captain America is looking at her so earnestly, "It's not...not nearly what you've been through, but," He starts slowly, licking his lips, "I blamed myself for Bucky's death for a long time. Hell, I still do, and he didn't even die," He smirks a little, "Can tell myself it was a busted train, icy rails. That James Barnes was a grown-ass man who made his own choice in coming with me. It doesn't change the fact that he came with me. That he was fighting next to me. That I didn't hang on to him." Steve swallows, "And knowing he survived, only to be tortured and reprogrammed? Only makes the splinter go in deeper."

"...Is that why you can't...?"

"Look him in the eye back home?" Steve slips over to her side on the bed, slowly wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure he thinks I look at him and still see the bad guy. When truth is, I see all he's struggling through, and just hate myself more. For not hanging on."

"...Man, being awesome and noble sucks donkey balls, huh?" Darcy cracks, pressing her face against his shoulder.

"Pretty much," Steve smirks, swallowing, and she feels his hand in her hair again. "...It doesn't go away, I don't think, but. You start to realize how much you're missing, blaming yourself...mind, I'm maybe only a little ways ahead of you in the process," He admits, and Darcy can't help smiling, a little bit. "But it does get better." Coming from him, it's a statement that's far from trite.

"Hope so..." She lifts her hand in front of them, the sapphire ring looking no different than before now. "This, this is from Asgard," She tells him, steadily, "It kinda...cloaks me, from Loki's eye. The Witch isn't in me anymore, but...as the healers in Asgard put it, my head would be kinda like an open wound for about a year. Prone to infections, you might say, if he got at me again," Darcy lets out a weary sigh, "...When I'm feeling something especially strong it um, works extra hard to hide me," She has to grin a little, when she feels him draw in a breath. It had downright burned on her hand, kissing him, "It'll hold, don't worry, it's built to, like, hide Asgardians and their big ol' shiny auras, when they're healing. Still...it's always there to remind me."

"And the iron...?" Steve glances at the dagger again. Darcy smirks.

"Protection against the faeries and Dark Elves, like, duh," She rolls her eyes dramatically, "...Seriously though, they'd find my brain-meat a little chewy and delicious right now, too. Iron deters 'em."

"...Not the weirdest thing I've heard all day," Steve replies, reminding her again of just why she likes him so much. Rollin' in the weird, as Adele unto the Deep. "...So, if I had to summarize," He goes on, gently this time, squeezing her a little, "Y'like me," She smirks, "But you're gunshy and still don't trust your own feelings right now."

"Not entirely, anyway," Darcy looks up at him, narrowing her eyes, "...You're good. How the hell have you never had a girlfriend, Steve?"

"Allergies," He says, not missing a beat, before kissing her forehead gently, "S'all right..." He clears his throat again, "...Still glad I got up the guts to kiss you, though."

"Pfft, don't talk like it'll never happen again," Darcy finds herself smiling, scoffing, something tugging in her chest, burning in her cheeks, "Just...gimme a bit, yeah?" That makes him crack a soft grin again, a little hopeful around the eyes.

"All the time in the world, Agent Lewis."

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"So, I heard you had a new little pet project," A voice shimmers somewhere behind him in the echoing halls of his palace. Dream shakes his head, moving from one window in the great room to the next, peering into the swirling, starry, color-struck abyss. He sees in the chaos of his realm what others might not, reaching out at one, brushing a hand through the cosmos to clear an image here or there. Absently, Dream regrets how dusty the windows have gotten. There'd been someone who tended them, long ago. She had been gone for some time now.

"I have taken to watching those who wander where few humans bother to, these days, if that is what you mean, Sibling." Dream replies, as Desire materializes at his shoulder. Both male and female and everything in-between at once, the striking figure in it's sleek suit watches, squinting wide-set eyes as it's brother watches, the pair curled up on a bed somewhere in Ireland, fully clothed, talking deep into their night until sleep has claimed them, arms tight around each other.

"...You always were something of a romantic, if a bitter one toward the end." Desire smirks, and Dream blinks, turning swiftly, in a brush of white robes against marble floor. "Maybe I should give 'em a push or two, eh?"

"Sibling, please don't..."

Desire looks on the verge of saying something snappy, but then...it sighs. "Ugh, what is it with this new body of yours?" Desire waves a hand, "It was so much easier to meddle in your affairs when you were a bitter old man. Now I'd just feel like the -worst- older sibling ever." A wide, devious grin spread over Desire's mouth then, "...I am going to linger, though. I thought I felt something interesting around that way."

"They are fragile things, humans," Dream says, softly, his youngish voice touched with compassion, "These two especially, for all their strength, and yet they still pit themselves against such powers that the heavens can devise. It's..."

"Stupid," Desire finishes, patting his arm, "I'm going to your kitchens, brother. You always have the best wine," She turns, winking at the doorway, "You know, eons past, we often found ourselves working together. I'd like that to happen again." Dream just smiles, faintly, once more closing the eddies of the Dreaming over the image.

"I guess we'll see, Sibling."

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	9. Chapter 9

((This is slightly longer than usual, but contains, hopefully, plenty of introspection and adorableness, interwoven with delicious supernatural things. Thanks to Tumblr, I now only see The Corinthian as David 8!Michael Fassbender. Goodness gracious. And I had to have Charles at least make a cameo, because honestly, I'm one of those fans who thinks of him EVERY time the tesseract is mentioned in the movies.

I also wrote a little one shot for a challenge, if you're in the mood, do please check it out on my profile! As always, thank you so much for all the love this story is getting. I love all your facemeats.))

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Chapter 9

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He watches her in the morning. Steve hadn't slept many hours that night, but that wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that his metabolism hadn't burned right through the dreamless sleep herbs Darcy had sprinkled in his tea, and what little rest he'd needed had been as untroubled as hers. Steve decides he can totally get on board with witches. He even wonders, distantly, if there's a way she could get him drunk...cause damnit, after watching Thor, Captain America really wanted the option of getting good and hammered too, now and then. Thor made these things look fun.

But mostly, at the moment, his thoughts are taken up with Darcy. She curls up tight when she sleeps, even if it is peaceful, her hands hidden under the too-long cuffs of her henley, same with her feet in her yoga pants. He'd wrapped a big arm around her waist, after she'd drifted off mid-sentence while murmuring about her mom's farm, and had latched on and curled around it in her sleep. Steve imagines that if they'd been under the blankets, she'd be like he used to be before the serum, a big fan of the blanket-cocoon. He's had his face in her hair for most of the night, but really, really doesn't mind. Steve slips his arm out of her grip carefully now, brushing her hair back from her face, drinking in how calm her face is, before rising.

"Sneakin' off on me, soldier?" She murmurs sleepily, as he sits up on the bed. His shoes are by his coat, sweater and scarf, but he isn't leaving just yet, reaching over and pulling the throw blanket they'd been under back over her.

"Not on your life," Steve grins, bending down to kiss her temple, "...But a man does kinda need to shower, eventually. I'll have 'em send up breakfast in here?" He lofts his brows, hopefully, and Darcy gives him a sleepy smile and a nod.

He ends up taking the shortest shower of his life, calling down to the front desk as he's yanking on his clothes. Steve's not sure why he's rushing, until he actually pauses to think about it. He doesn't want the moment to end, whatever it is, whatever's going on between them. Darcy seems so fleeting, really, and who can blame her, if she seems almost ready to bolt on this front? But no, when he returns to her room she's sitting cross-legged on her bed, the book she'd gotten from an angel open in front of her knees. She looks up, smiling brightly and easily, and Steve feels his heart flop around in his chest a few times. Nope, Darcy wasn't running.

"Breakfast's coming," He clears his throat, as she shuts the book, after carefully marking her page with the frayed ribbon that ran through the spine, like a Bible. Steve tilts his head, eying the worn cover closely for the first time, "I never did ask what exactly is in there."

"Spells, mostly," Darcy shrugs, "Difference is, they're ones that actually work, when used by people who know what the hell they're doing." She smirks, looking him up and down for the first time, apparently taking in his slacks, shirt and belt, because after a drawn-out sigh that makes his throat go dry, she says, "Steve, how do you make old man clothes look so damn -good-?"

"...Well, I'm not an old man, for one?" He answers, without really thinking. When she giggles, though, Steve processes it all, and winces, shaking his head as she pulls him down next to her, "...I just meant, you know, most old men who dress like this...were young men from my era...and they looked uh, just as good once..."

"I got it, don't worry," Darcy murmurs, giving his cheek a kiss. "Was just a compliment, good-lookin'."

"I'm...getting that," He sighs, leaning against her a little, "...I'm kind of a weirdo too, Darcy, in case you haven't noticed."

"I know, it's great," She gives his shoulder a nuzzle, and he can't help smiling again. Darcy's not only letting him in, she's comfortable with him. And not in the way he's used to, not like some grateful person on the street who seems so -sure- that he can save the day, a feeling he still has to work at not being overwhelmed by. Darcy doesn't want someone saving the day right now, that much is clear. She's obviously been taking care of herself, after what she's been through; she's powered right on through on her own. Darcy needs something else, something companionable and close, and Steve's pretty sure he can manage that much.

"So, plan for the day?" He asks, after their breakfast shows up, and Darcy is digging into her bacon and sausages with a relish. "I know you said something about a market last night..."

"Troll Market," She pauses to specify, waggling her eyebrows with devious promise, "I'm actually really, REALLY looking forward to it. If all the stories are true, you'll see why. That's not 'til tonight though, only time you can find it. I'm gonna call Red, see if he wants to come along," Darcy wipes her hands, watching him as he braves the black pudding. It's a lot tastier than the name makes it sound, She'd told him, and Steve is happy to discover that she's right, "...Til then, though, kinda got the day to ourselves. I thought...maybe we could walk around Tralee, you can explore where your dad came from, yeah? Maybe call up your cousin around lunchtime, whadddya think?"

"I think that I like the way you think," He replies around his bacon, grin going wide. The way she smiles back just about makes his day, and it's only nine in the morning.

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Darcy's an independent woman, the kind Beyonce would write a song about, if she hadn't already. At least, that's how she sees herself and really, that's halfway to being a Thing, right there. Even after Loki, and having herself taken over, she knows her strength on her own, that needing a little professional help isn't weakness, and 'aint nobody gonna break-a my stride. Fine, good, all wonderful things to know...on one's own.

But when it came to other people, even just friendships, a girl questioned herself. It took her a couple of weeks to accept that everything she was feeling about Jane was all her, her old friendship feelings, boss feelings. Thor and Erik took a little longer. It was weird, trusting her exchange with a stranger making her tea at Starbucks more than her relationship with her best friend, and best friends' boyfriend. But Darcy had pushed through, because it was worth it, and once she had, they were some of the most helpful, supportive people, between Thor being all noble, Jane being all sisterly, Erik being like the second dad she never realized she wanted.

But when it came to the thought of being close to someone again, someone like a guy, that had seemed like a far-off, maybe-someday goal. Like when she was thirty, and Loki had either died or safely settled down with some nice psycho and had a few more eight-legged kids, never again to play merry havoc with her brain meat.

Which is why it amazes her, how easy it was with Steve. Not easy as most people would define the word... today, for example, she falls right back onto staying on the surface, nothing deep, nothing close. But she is near him, and it is steadying. The way he's kind to her, the way he's so damn eager to see every bit of the place his family had come from, show it to her, and the way he so easily slips his hand around hers, makes Darcy feel easy, steady, free inside of her own head. All this is good, she keeps telling herself. Because it is.

"Now, that's adorable," She says presently, as they stand in front of the house Steve's father had grown up in, on a quiet side street in town. It's painted dark green where it isn't exposed brick, trimmed in cream, and Steve has a faint smile on his face, as if trying to imagine a dark-haired, heartier version of his childhood self growing up here.

"It's like he described it," He nods, the hand holding hers squeezing her fingers tight. Darcy looks sideways, tilting her head.

"...How did he meet your mom, anyway? You said she was Austrian..."

"Well, dad and his brother sailed off to the States with their parents, when they were around twelve." Steve begins, squinting as he brings up the story, "My grandparents died not long after comin' over, though, and the boys ended up in an orphanage in Brooklyn. Uncle Paul went back to Ireland as soon as he was eighteen, where the family was. Dad almost went too, but," Here, Steve smirks, "He'd been smitten. Pretty blonde gal at the factory he worked, sixteen." He sighs, "He stayed for her. Her parents didn't speak a word of English, but were happy to have her out of the house, one less mouth to feed in a house fulla boys..." Here, Steve frowns, "...Though, as it went, all four of my uncles on mom's side would die in the first war...anyway," He shakes his head, grinning again, "They were lovebirds. I only have a few memories of 'em together, but...they stayed lovesick teenagers right up until dad died."

"That's something," Darcy tells him, honestly, "I can't...can't remember anything like that with my folks, just fighting. On their own they were happier...And really, I hear mom go on sometimes, about way back when the family came over from France, vaguely, getting details wrong. But you actually know..."

"Well, if I'd done things the normal way, I'd have grand-kids misremembering things too," He reminds her, yet he grins when he says it, shrugging. "But when you put it that way, it's another thing that puts a good spin on being a...capsicle." Darcy giggles, hugging him.

"Let's get ourselves some food, soldier."

They meet up with Michael for lunch, because, as the man puts it, "I'm pretty much jest a house husban', these days. And all the carpets are quite clean." They tuck into a thick spread for lunch; Darcy is swiftly learning that traditional Irish cooking is meant to stick to the ribs all day long. After a bit of Steve and Michael discussing where they'd wandered that day, and a few suggestions of where to go next, Micheal asks of Darcy, "But oi, where ye goin' next for -business-? Or can I even know that?"

"Ah, a market, actually," Darcy admits, grinning, "It's entrance happens to be here this month, so..."

"Troll Market? Excellent," Michael grins, and Steve blinks, and then squints.

"You've been?"

"Hell yes I've been, cuz," The other man chuckles, and they're both learning that laughter is how Michael Ryan responds to most things. Darcy wonders if Steve could ever tap into that gene. "I went all over, trying to understand what I was after I got bit. My feet took me there," He shrugs, "Who're you hopin' to find, though? Population's pretty changeable, Fae folk tend to be gypsies."

"Exactly," Darcy grins, "We're hoping to find -everyone-."

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Much to Darcy's delight, Michael isn't the only one who joins them in a shadowed alley at midnight, on the derelict edges of the otherwise picturesque town. "I was hoping you'd gotten my message," She greets Liz Sherman, who steps into the light with a smirk. She's dressed in jeans and a sweater under her coat, but one could still appreciate the stance of someone who'd been an Agent herself once. At her side is a tall, slim figure, in a long coat and hood. Abe Sapien, Darcy correctly guesses, wearing his breathing suit, and holding a birdcage with a very lively canary inside.

"Red's home with the kids, but we couldn't bear the thought of you lambs in there on your own...hey Cap," Liz waves. Steve smiles, returning the gesture amiably. "He hasn't shut up about you since, by the way. And I quote, 'I'm real happy he aint a douche'."

"...Tell him thanks?" Steve blinks, and neither his cousin nor Darcy can keep from laughing a little. Abe steps forward then, pushing back his cowl and making hellos.

"All right little fella," He says to his bird, "Let's go bully a gatekeeper..."

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The Troll Market is, visually, everything the book tucked into Darcy's bag had promised. Loud, beautiful, strange. Even after all they've both seen, she and Steve look like complete tourists, gaping at the pressing, huge crowd of beings nowhere near human. Trolls shaped like chunks of a mountain ambling past, tiny buzzing things on the air, stalls watched over by jowly, hairless mutants, Fair Folk leaning idly out of windows. Wares being hocked in languages Darcy's never heard before, shops with windows full of curiosities.

"Try not tae look so...human," Michael grins, nudging Steve, who chuckles in amazement, his eyes going everywhere. Darcy's at least able to keep her head about where they're going, what they're looking at. "Though really, no one pays ye much mind, unless ye start a fuss."

"Fuss is the opposite of what we want," Darcy notes, pressing her lips together, peering through the alien crowd, the ancient buildings hidden from the world outside. "So, where are the best spots to go and feel people out?"

"Well, they are many, really," Abe pipes up, tapping his amphibian chin, "A couple of taverns, food stalls, the Old Library..." There, he sighs, a bit sadly, and Liz rests a hand on his arm, "...Sorry, yes, the Library, and the Inn."

"Hmm, best split up to cover as many places as we can..." Darcy squints.

"Well, I fer one know that most of th' ...relatively... civilized Weres drink at th' Old Hag," Michael shoves his hands in his jean pockets, "Y'lot go on to The Library iffin' ye like, best if I say hullo to 'em first, on m'own. We're a wary lot, when it comes t'humans in the furry sanctum." He winks.

"Let's you and I take the Library first, then," Liz suggests to Darcy, grinning, "Abe, show Cap The Cafe."

"Ahh, excellent plan," If Abe could smile, Darcy imagined now would be when he'd do so. "Meet us there even, when you ladies are done. I can assure you Captain, Agent Lewis, if you're going to find the more amiable crowd of Oddities, it will be while spending an hour or two at the Cafe."

"I trust your aquatic judgment." Steve smiles.

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Aside from a few books on spell-craft that Darcy swears to return in a week (signing her crisp new parchment library card with a bloody thumb-print), The Library is fairly quiet. Which, she figures, most libraries are supposed to be, but this one is also pretty empty. Liz doesn't seem too surprised, greeting the grumpy old, cathedral-headed Keeper with a smile.

"It's a weeknight," She shrugs, as they leave, "Wild stuff like reading is something magic folk tend to save for the weekend." Nope, the pyro isn't joking, either. She glances over at the old, worn books Darcy is carefully putting away in her canvas tote, "Those are good! This one especially," Liz taps the cover of the newest-looking one, Anathema Device's How To Detect Angels & Demons (Even Whe They're Not Driving Flaming Cars). "Really funny, and really accurate."

"We'll see if I can get 'em all read before we have to leave Kerry..."

"Are you staying at least until Halloween?" Liz grins, "There's a real smash of a Samhain party out by Fenit, only...special folks show up. Might meet some people...and it's a good time," She waggles her brows, and yes, Darcy really does hope this chick and her big red lug join the Avengers, because more badass lady-snark was needed.

"Weeeell...I guess it'd only take extending the trip a couple of days, I'm sure Coulson won't mind," She grins back, "We've been cheap wayward children so far, SHIELD can fork over some cash for a few more nights."

They wind their way to the Cafe, which seems to be a tavern, and as breezy as a building could ever get in the close, cramped Market. The large windows were open wide to the street, with only sheer blue drapes shielding the patrons within. Perhaps this was why it attracted a nicer crowd, Darcy thinks. It would be hard to hide your doings in a place like this. Indeed, most of the fae and trollish beings inside seem to be of a better demeanor than most of the Market.

They find Abe and Steve at the far end of the room, standing by a large table. Two much smaller figures are seated, or perhaps the superheroes are just really tall...or both, Darcy allows. One is a young man in his early 20's, looking thoroughly human, and yet somehow not at all out of place, unlike Steve, despite them both being in leather and jeans. The other figure is very slight, and cowled, but Darcy's pretty sure it's a girl.

"Ah, and here they are," Abe greets her and Liz warmly, "We were just saying our hellos to Charles here," The young man gave a soft smile from under a mop of light brown hair, and Darcy realized what was so strange about him. He had the eyes of a much older person, despite looking barely old enough to drink. "And...Nuala." There, Abe swallowed, and Liz's brows shot up. The small figure drew back her hood slightly, revealing a sweet, pixie face, and sharply pointed ears under long, unruly brown hair. At Darcy's side now, Steve drew in a short breath as well.

"Please sit," Charles motioned, as Nuala blushed, and drew back under her hood, "I'm always in here, trying to meet new people, I don't bite." Darcy likes this kid already, she thinks, as they all settle into chewed up, ancient wooden chairs. How someone so earnest hasn't been eaten alive by this Market, though, she'd love to know. "Nuala and I just met an hour ago,"

"He's very nice...Mr. Sapien, I'm sorry, but do faerie folk make you uncomfortable...?" The little faerie asks, worriedly. Abe just shakes his head, sighing.

"I'm sorry, I simply...once knew someone with your name." Is all he says, and Liz takes his hand, squeezing it for a moment. At Darcy's left, Steve is frowning now, as if something is bothering him as well. But Darcy knows this look by now. It's the one he gets when he's trying to reconcile what he's seeing, with what he was pretty sure he knew about the world. She's not the only one who notices, as Nuala's huge eyes flicker to his face next. Captain America glances up at her, biting his lip.

"Miss Nuala..." He starts, and then stops, as if thinking he's about to ask something ludicrous. Then gives a to-hell-with-it shrug, "Do you happen to know a um...Lord Shaper?" The faerie's eyes go even wider, nodding jerkily, and Steve shakes his head in disbelief, "...Wow, all right. Well, he wanted me to say that ah...He remembers you."

"...He visited your dreams to tell me that?" She says, in something between a squeak and a whisper, and Steve nods, looking bashful. Darcy looks him up and down, both bemused and curious.

"...You've had strange men visiting your dreams, hun?" She grins, "Might've mentioned that."

"I didn't think he was -real-..." Steve starts, and then, looking around him, at the Market outside, he clearly realizes how ridiculous that sounds. Darcy decides to go easy on the guy, just chuckling and nudging him. Nuala returns to the shadows of her hood, but now with a pleased little smile on her face. Steve clears his throat, "I'm sorry, we were all saying hello?"

"Yes, Charles," Abe finally regains his speech, motioning to the boy, who's been watching them all with a studious expression, "You were telling us, before Darcy and Liz rejoined us, about your studies in physics."

"Well, yes, but I don't think it's anything worth SHIELD's time," He shrugs, "You've got Tony Stark, Dr. Foster and Dr. Banner among the ranks, as I hear it. I'm barely out of graduate school." Darcy blinks, suddenly feeling all kinds of lazy, if this whelp is a graduate student.

"That's not all he does, though," Nuala pipes up, peering out at them again, "Charles Wallace is an Empath. He's seen the strands of the universe..."

"Yeah, but I doubt they need anyone telling them how the Hulk's feeling on a given day," Charles rolls his eyes, and Darcy tilts her head. "...I am in touch with lots of people in the field, though." She smiles.

"Hey, you never know, you could be on the phone tree," She grins, "Careful though, Tony gets wind of a fresh young mind, he might stalk your career." The boy looks as if tha'd be a dream come true, "And...Nuala, so like, are you a faerie FROM Faerie?" The girl sighs then, nodding.

"Exiled though, self-imposed," She sits up a little straighter, her voice steadier, as if they've touched on one of the few subjects Nuala is confidant in, "Abe mentioned you two were scouting for allies. Before you even ask, you'll meet no compatriots there," She says firmly, "My people aren't evil. But...they exist to make merry, to amuse themselves, to be beautiful. Honestly...you should concern yourselves with protection -from- them. They disdain humanity for its lack of belief. And if Loki ever went to their realm for allies himself, well," Nuala smiles sadly, "I'm afraid Tatianna would find The Trickster's propositions far more amusing than your own."

"...Awesome," Darcy winces, but it's Cap this time who's the optimistic one, leaning forward, giving the shy faerie a grin.

"Well then, I guess we'll need someone to call on, when we need to know exactly how to protect ourselves from 'em, won't we?" He turns up the charm, and Darcy's downright proud of the lug. Working what his momma and a bottle of serum gave him. Nuala turns a deep red.

"M-me?!" The confidant voice from before wavers, "I'm, I'm just ….me!"

"We need everyone, though," Darcy assures her, following her studly...boyfriend-type-person's lead, "If the last time we faced Loki...and any bad guy really, proves anything, it's that everyone has a role to play."

"Excuse me," A smooth, quiet voice cuts into their conversation, another male figure in jeans and leather sliding over from another table. He seems human, but from the way Charles cringes back in his seat, Darcy's pretty sure it's safe to bet that he isn't. "I couldn't help but overhear," He runs a hand over light hair, half his face hidden behind dark sunglasses, "Something about facing Loki?" He draws down the shades just slightly, something white behind them glinting in the tavern's low lantern light. The grin he spreads is wide, with white, perfectly even teeth, "Because I happen to have a lot of feelings, about Loki..."

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	10. Chapter 10

((Aaand now a rather short one. Transitions, what do! The next few chapters will amp up some things, so never fear, the tip-toeing won't last forever. Desire is getting bored, and that never ends well. Or it does, and everyone's just really sore in the morning.

I really liked the side-idea of The Corinthian having a splinter in his non-soul about Loki, and I had this AMAZING epiphany about the two of them that I cannot WAIT to write. But of course, I finally hit the inevitable barrier of Sandman gods vs. Marvel gods. Hopefully AU-ing the situation a little doesn't downplay anything from either 'verse, because any Loki is a Loki who'll make things...interesting.))

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Chapter 10

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"God moves in extremely mysterious, not to say, circuitous ways. God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players (ie: everybody), to being involved in an obscure and complex version of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time."

~ Good Omens, Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

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"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?"

~ Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows, J.K Rowling

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The Corinthian, Steve figures, is probably the kind of supernatural being that both Hellboy and that angel back in London had warned them about. And as Tony had once explained to him, while trying to also explain modern men's fashion, any man who has to wear sunglasses inside should be handled with no small amount of suspicion. His smile is sharp, and frankly, Steve's not a fan of how the guy licks his lips every time he looks at Darcy. Or rather, at Darcy's eyes. It's nowhere near as creepy as when he looks at Charles', though.

"How are you here?" Nuala's soft little voice is asking, as the man takes a seat beside an extremely uncomfortable Charles. The lad mutters that he really -must- be going, slips his card to Darcy, and then books it out of the Cafe. The Corinthian looks unsurprised. "...I thought Dream was keeping a real close hold on you, these days..."

"He is, I was given leave to ask some questions, however, after I became aware of their wanderings..." The Corinthian looks to Steve now, his expression hardening a bit, "How is it that Loki is no longer imprisoned? I fought him, I -bested- him in single combat, in the Dreaming, and then I consumed his eyes. The All-Father himself bound his son in the center of the world..and you're saying that he now walks free?"

"Ooooh," Darcy's mouth makes an o-shape to go along with the word as she listens, and everyone at the table looks her way. Steve can't help smirking a little, at her embarrassed wince over the sound, "I uh, I think you fought another Loki. -The- other one, that is."

"...There are two?" Liz asks, flatly, as if not quite surprised that the universe could be that cruel. Steve's right there with her, frowning now. But Darcy shakes her head, slowly.

"Well, no...and yes...sort of?" The Corinthian arches a brow behind his glasses, and Darcy pushes on, clearly knowing how strange it sounds, yet sure of her knowledge, "All right, so, when Thor's dad first came to this planet, he and all Asgard were worshiped as if they were gods, right? Well, when that happened, those -ideas- of them sorta became real beings." It's Abe who lets out a sound of understanding then, nodding, "Apparently ideas become people all the time? Like The Glanconer." She shrugs, while the other actual humans at the table were looking at her as if this notion were half-nuts. And that was saying something.

"I'm an idea," Nuala pipes up, gladly confirming Darcy's musings, "Most Faeries are. You're an idea too, sir." She nods to The Corinthian.

"...So you are saying," He replies, slowly, tipping his shades, and whatever is behind them, it makes Darcy cringe, and inch closer to Steve's side, "That I did not actually fight the ORIGINAL Loki? He was...was a copy?"

"Well, I bet that one's pretty sure that he IS the original," Darcy assures him, "And um, to use a cliché, ideas are really powerful too? Our...Loki, is from another planet entirely." This seems to intrigue The Corinthian, who lets out a light hum, rubbing his chin. Steve has a thought then, after opening his head up to all this crazytalk being real.

"...So you fought against Loki...well, -a- Loki, and won? How?" He looks the man up and down, half-expecting some heroic ability to become apparent. The man is fit enough, smartly-dressed, and aside from wearing the sunglasses inside, he looks mostly unremarkable. Steve knows better than to judge by appearances though, of course. The Corinthian tilts his head, casting a glance over the table, before slowly removing the shades. And Steve feels his stomach turn.

Not just because there are two rows of teeth in each eye socket, no, though that isn't a picnic to look at either. Everyone sees something different, though, looking into The Corinthian's face, and they do not look for long, any of them. The man smirks with his proper mouth, then. "How? With that Thing that keeps me chained to The Dreaming, that Thing that will undo any man I am sent to gaze fully on...now," He polishes his dark sunglasses on his white shirt, before replacing them on his face, and it's to Darcy he looks again, sharply, "Tell me all about -your- Loki..."

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Not long after Michael rejoins them, they say their goodbyes and go their separate ways, exchanging information. Or in The Corinthian's case, a simple "I'll be there when you need me, if my lord so allows." Michael tells them them they'll be welcomed at the Werwolf watering hole if they show up tomorrow night, and Darcy's both glad it went well and relieved that she doesn't have to double her creepy-quota for the night. Even in her repaired coat, she shivers on the walk home, Steve's arm curling around her shoulders when she does. She might not need the warmth any more, but the steadying presence is more than appreciated. Just a glimpse of the Dark Mirror was more than she ever wanted to see in her lifetime.

"I'm not sure about that guy..." Steve muses, in the understatement of the century, Darcy thinks, but he's clearly aware of it, smirking and trying to lighten her mood. She grins, pressing against his side gratefully.

"Me either, but he's safely on a leash, apparently," She reminds him, "And if he can do what he says he can? We might just be down the biggest thorn in our side for good, and without Thor even having to mourn his brother for real this time." She pushes out a breath, not ready to entertain the thought, yet, of a Loki cowed. It was an image Darcy might never trust. But even she knew what it would mean, to many people, if this worked, her own scars aside, "...At least, if you can convince his boss to loan him out." She reminds him, looking up at him, pushing away the more maudlin of her musings. Steve chuckles.

"Yeah, sorry I didn't tell you about the strange man in my dreams," He sighs, grinning, as they near their lodgings. "I'm having a hard time these days, sorting out what's real and what isn't..." Darcy nods, appreciating that.

"Just do what I do," She tells him, "Believe in it all. It's like, way easier that way." That earns her the laugh she likes so very much.

When he means to leave her at her door, this time it's Darcy who pulls him down for a kiss, swift and chaste, but it's still warm and sweet and moves her all the way to her toes, which she still has to stand on to reach his mouth. She feels his fingers slide through her hair, and a sigh leaves her lips. "...You can stay, again," Darcy looks up at him, at the way he smiles back at her slowly, "I mean, I just...I slept really well last night." It isn't easy, pushing out the words, but the way he looks at her, steadily, as he listens is making it easier all the time, "...I calm down, with you."

"I'm glad," He murmurs, kissing the top of her head, "...I might not be very calming tonight, though," Steve admits, wrapping both arms around her. "Last night you gave me that voodoo, but tonight I'll need to skip it so I can dream," She hears the pained wince in his voice, even as he keeps his tone light, "Usually I uh, don't sleep so sound, when I do sleep."

"Think I can handle it, soldier," Darcy maintains. She's pretty sure, from some of the looks she's gotten from him in the mornings in the past, that he knows how restless her nights had been before Rhee's dreamless sleep. "Returning the favor, and all. And I mean, if you actually can stick with my crazy ass long enough, we may just end up sleeping in the same bed a -lot-," She pulls back, unlocking her door, waggling her brows with enough promise that it makes him grin all goofy, and that's exactly what Darcy was going for. She bites her lip, grinning back, "So come back when you're ready to meet the man of your dreams."

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For the first time in a long time, Steve isn't in the snow any more. He's walking across grass, and while he's aware of the vast, frozen landscape somewhere behind him, the countryside here is green and lush. There are also the random, fleeting images on the edges of everything, from the past day, from years ago, from books he'd read, like the normal dreams that a normal person would have. Predictable or not, at least it's clear to him that this is a good sign. His brain is maybe settling down, setting aside parts of his past...or maybe it's just being near Darcy. Steve decides that he's all right either way.

Still, there's that figure standing on a rocky outcropping nearby, black eyes on the endless, churning sea ahead of them. Steve stops beside him, hands in his pockets, looking straight ahead. "...I told her. Nuala." A hint of movement at his side, "...Why couldn't you talk to her yourself though, visit her in her own dreams?"

"Rules," Dream says simply, "And faeries rarely dream, they tend to dream their waking lives into being," He adds, enigmatically. "It would seem that I now owe you a boon, Steve Rogers."

"Yeah?" Steve blinks, "Just for passing on a hello?"

"It means very much to me," The Endless nods. "One favor, you may name it." Not quite believing his good luck, Steve doesn't even stop to think.

"The Corinthian," Steve says, and if the ageless figure could look intrigued, he did now, "We'll need him, one day, for just one thing. Loki of Asgard kinda has no qualms about Earth being in his way, in his grudge match with...well, a lot of people. We uh, don't want his eyes eaten, but..."

"The Corinthian quelled Loki once before, yes," Dream replies, slowly, "He is the Dark Mirror." Steve nods, "...This is what you'd ask of me, Steve Rogers? A boon for your world? Not pleasant dreams forever, or to see across the stars?"

"Well, I aint being totally selfless," Steve smirks, "I kinda live on Earth, and all. And my girl not having to look over her shoulder, to see if he's come to torment her again, would be real nice."

"Hmm," Dream taps his chin, "Perhaps it is indeed fortunate, that I was drawn to your dreaming. Very well, I will grant you this," He moves one bone-white hand, seemingly drawing a small crystal out of thin air. He reaches out, pressing it into Steve's palm, "Hold this, and call on your boon, when the moment is right. I can assure that The Corinthian will not devour Loki's eyes...but this does not mean he will treat him kindly."

"I don't need kind, I just need effective," Steve grins, wrapping his fingers tight around the treasure, "Thank you."

"A kindness for a kindness," The Dream King's eyes flash.

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It's still dark when Steve wakes up, and considering that they'd left the Troll Market at around 2am, this means that his meeting in the Dreaming hadn't taken long at all. He untangles himself from the blanket-burrito that is Darcy carefully, meaning to make himself a quick cup of dreamless sleep and give them both an untroubled night all around. Something is already in his palm, though, and sitting up in the semi-darkness, Steve holds up a small, bluish crystal to the moonlight. He smiles.

Maybe he -could- become the kind of guy who believed in just about anything.

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	11. Chapter 11

((This one gave me a headache, as filler chapters generally do. Not that this is truly filler...more like, some less interesting bits, that only feel as such because they're leading up to something I'm way excited to write, which are the last two chapters. And those always feel like they take forever. If you DO find yourself awash in filler, though, better it be filler involving werewolves and selkies! That is always the best kind of filler! Also I totally make a shameless jab at one of the lamest Marvel story-arcs for Cap, guilty .))

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Chapter 11

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"I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."

– 'The Bene Gesserit 'Litany Against Fear', Dune

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"I don't know if I can do this," Steve sucks in a long breath, standing by their rental car as Darcy smooths the front of his button-up. They're parked outside of a small cottage on the outskirts of Fenit, Ireland, and inside, Steve's honest-to-gods first cousin Rebecca is waiting to meet him. Darcy can understand why he's nervous, or at least, she thinks that she can.

"I know it'll be strange, seeing her so old..." He shakes his head though, looking down.

"That...that I can kind of deal with," He admits, eyes flickering to her face, "...I got up the guts to see Peggy, once, before...well, before she passed away," Darcy pauses in preening him, biting her lip as she listens, "It wasn't easy, but. It also wasn't as bad as I expected." He pushes out a breath, "No, this is. This is the last person I've got, 'sides Bucky, who knew me before. She's family, even," Steve winces, suddenly chuckling, "Call me an ass, but I'm kind of worried about being a huge disappointment."

"...You're kidding me," Darcy can't help herself, tossing her head as she laughs, before coughing, trying to stop herself for his sake. But no, she's made Cap grin too, and maybe he's a little red in the face as well. It twists something inside of her. Darcy gives his shirt a little tug, so that he bends down and she can kiss him properly, light and quick. "She'll be crazy about you, handsome. Now, go give that smokin' Irish dame a hug!" The smile now firmly on his face, Steve goes, and Darcy gives herself a little pat on the shoulder.

After a polite knock, the front door of the stone cottage is opened by a woman who looks to be in her late 50's, though Darcy knows she's actually closer to 70. It turns out that Rogers women age very well, and Chelsea Ryan beams wide as soon as she looks at Steve, opening her arms. "Jesus an' Mary, Alison wasn't lyin', you're as big a dish in person as ye are on the television, Steven!" And then Captain America is being yanked in to hug his cousin's widowed daughter, and Darcy grins like a Cheshire Cat.

Becca Ryan, formerly Rogers, turns out to be a willowy, wispy women, and still rather tall. Her hair is white and her skin lined, but when she sees Steve her blue eyes light up, brightening her whole face. Darcy's never seen someone this old who was this present and spry, the 90-year old lady standing right up and reaching out for him. "...You look so much like -my- Steven did," Becca sighs, taking his face in her worn hands, and Darcy can tell that her guy's getting a little choked up, looking at his cousin.

She glances away, giving them their private moment, her eyes falling to the mantle. Rebecca was a stunner in her day, and so were her kids. And yeah, Steve Ryan -had- looked a lot like his namesake, with darker hair. Captain America had definitely gotten the blonde from his mother's side; everyone in the pictures has dark brown or faintly ginger hair, judging by the newer, color photos. But much of his face, his eyes, those were all Rogers.

"Sorry it took me so long to come and visit," Steve manages to get out, and Becca just takes both of his hands in hers, bringing them up to her lips.

"Better late than never, my old pen-pal," Becca smiles, looking around him and spotting Darcy, "And you must be the young lady who called Michael." Darcy ducks her head, sudden-onset shyness kicking in.

"Yes, Darcy Lewis," She offers a hand, getting a surprisingly firm handshake when she does, "Um, Steve and I work together." And like that, a wry smirk breaks through the kindly, grandmotherly persona.

"Oh, so that's what you're calling it these days, aye?" Becca gives her cousin a nudge, "Chelsea saw you two through the window, I approve. Girl's got fine hips! Now, get over here and tell an old woman new stories about New York City, cousin."

Yes, Darcy decides that she loves this woman.

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It's all she can do, not to make every Harry Potter reference, when they slip into the Werewolf pub that night with Michael. Both because she's started to feel guilty about leaving Steve out with said references, and because she's pretty sure Michael would be the only werewolf present who'd appreciate the comparison. This place looks like a proper, sketchy bar, and though Steve's cousin had assured them that only a handful of his fellows would be there, the ones all right with talking to them, they still looked pretty menacing to Darcy. That is, until Michael says hullo, moving to a table in the center of the room, and then everyone's grinning and raucously returning the greeting. Except for one guy in a trench coat at the bar, Darcy distantly notes, but she's too distracted by all the beards and arm hair.

"Well Michael, boyo, ye weren't lyin'," The eldest of the three men at the table booms, clapping two big palms around Steve's hands, "Cap'n, good t'meet ye. And t'learn that yer blood is Irish!" He chuckles. All three men are large, really, looking like the dock-workers Darcy's seen plenty of around the coasts. There's that profusion of body hair going on as well, and she wonders if that comes with the curse, or if it's a personal choice. Michael is clean-shaven, anyway.

"Glad of that myself," Steve is saying, much more at ease with this kind of crowd, even if he knows they're wolves. He pulls out a chair for Darcy before sitting, which is when the table at large notices her. She gives a little wave.

"Sup."

"Tol' ye the agent with 'im weren't any kind of menacing," Michael grins, sitting on her other side, and earning a sharp jab to the ribs.

"Hey now. I'll have you know that I can terrify the god of thunder himself, with just a taser," She grins, "...And yes, I'm with SHIELD, Darcy Lewis. Hi."

"Are they all this pretty, at SHIELD?" A large ginger fellow, who kinda reminds Darcy of her new pal Volstagg, asks Steve with a wide grin, lifting his mug of ale, "Cause I'll sign up in heartbeat." Steve chuckles good-naturedly, but still slips an arm over her shoulders. Ahh, her old-fashioned hero, through and through.

"Yep, each and every one of us," Darcy winks. The trenchcoat werwolf at the bar rises, then, turning and tapping his cigar. Darcy's pretty sure Steve's with her, when she blinks a few times to make sure it's not their furry pal Wolverine. It isn't, but he sure is one hell of a dopple-ganger. And he still approaches their table, leaning on an elbow and looking directly at Darcy, ignoring everyone else.

"SHIELD," He notes, smirking, his accent all New Yorker, "Your people have been trying to get in touch with mine for months. Now you're in Tralee, of all places, when me an' the Missus are. I dearly hope I'm not bein' stalked, for your sake..."

"Oi, Bigby, so fulla yourself," The oldest of the werewolves chuckles, "The superhero an' his pretty lass are here t'see -us-."

"...Yes we are, but, you're Bigby Wolf?!" Darcy can't believe her good luck, as the gruff man winces, "The hell are you doing here?!"

"I WAS on vacation, thank you," He scrubs a hand over his face, "...Damn my paranoia, coulda walked out of here without you noticin', couldn't I?" Darcy smirks, nodding, and Bigby sighs again, "Right. I feel like a good and proper ass now. ...Well, me an' the wife an' pups are here for the big Halloween Party out in Fenit. Bug me there, if you still mean to." He pauses, "...Anyone who's really and truly going after allies in these corners, is maybe someone whose pulse I'd like to keep a finger on." And like that, the man leaves, chuckling Irish werewolves slapping their knees behind him.

"Oi, he's a grim 'un," The big, black-haired man at Michael's right laughs, outing himself as actually being from Northern England. "Yank wolves always are."

"He's not actually American though, originally," Darcy grins, and before Steve can ask the question that is obviously on his tongue, she answers him, "He's sheriff to a whole hidden community of supernatural beings, most all from Fairytales, in New York. Like he said, SHIELD has been trying to contact them for like, ages. He's uh, actually the Big Bad Wolf."

It's a fine testament to how far Steve has come, that his only response is, "...Huh. Neat."

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"I'm getting bored of this," Desire tilts it's head, as the lean, lithe figure leans back against a food cart in the Troll Market. Across the way is the dingy tavern wherein Darcy Lewis and Steve Rogers are treating with a clutch of werewolves. "It's moving too slowly. Why do living beings always feel this strange need, to move so slowly?"

"You know why," His hands in his pockets, looking no different from any youth leaning by his brother-or-sister, Dream shrugs, also watching the building thoughtfully, "You ask that question every age, and still the answer is unchanging, as is the nature of what we are. You are the start, Sibling. The rest of us...Delirium, Despair, and even Death...we are there for the rest of a joining, a shared journey."

"Yes yes, but none of it starts without me," Desire winks, "And I'm seriously antsy for a good and proper start, with or without your approval..."

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Despite warnings from just about everyone, Steve finds himself trekking into the wild corners of the countryside of County Kerry, over the next week. He's firmly at Darcy's side, as she hunts down the various, removed registered werewolves of Ireland. They like the area, apparently, as it's at the crossing of many magical forces, or so she tells him. Also, it's the boondocks, with plenty of hard labor to explain away thick arms and gruff personalities.

Yet despite her persistence, everything they were warned about regarding the more isolated wolves turns out to be true. At best, the men and women shrug their offers off, with a gruff "no thanks" and a kindly reminder of where the road out of the woods or away from the rocky shore lies. Other times, they're met with hovels barely fit for human habitation, and individuals gone near-feral. Darcy seems more thankful for Steve's old fashioned, protective instincts than ever at these times, because seriously. Tough as she is, a seven-foot, burly Irishman shouting in her face, barely keeping himself from turning furry, would make a saint grab for Steve's hand.

"I think he almost bit me," Steve tries to make light of their last, and perhaps worst encounter, when the werewolf in question had actually lunged for Darcy as soon as he'd scented fresh blood on his property. Cap had jumped in front of her, as hero or not, he'd hoped anyone who cared for someone would, and wrestled the wolf to the ground. Negotiations hadn't lasted much longer.

It helps, he's pleased to see, at least a little. As they sit on the rocky shore before the sea, Darcy gives him a shaky grin, reaching out and touching the rip in his sleeve. She's bundled up against the chill sea wind, but he's still a little over-heated from the fight. "Thank Vishnu he didn't get his teeth in, I don't think I'd ever hear the end of it, if Captain America became a werewolf on my watch," She sighs, "Seriously, picture trying to stuff all that fur into the suit. Nightmare, man."

Steve chuckles, and wraps an arm around her as they watch the spectacle happening across the way, on an outcropping of rocks in the gray sea. Darcy had murmured some spell from her book, to wards she said were lingering here. Now they were able to watch, without any complaints from the players, as the Selkies of Fenit shucked off their seal-skins and sunbathed on the rocks, in the cold. Steve finds himself far from uncomfortable with all the naked female flesh on display...somehow, after watching them go from seal to human, it's the artist's side of his brain that is far more aroused, and he's wishing he had his sketchbook with him.

"You tried," He says at length, and Darcy sighs yet again.

"Yeah, and failed," She grumbles, "I should have listened. Maybe I was feeling cocky, after all the success we'vr had. Like, 'Who the hell would say no to Cap and his fun-sized partner?'. Plenty of ornery werewolves, turns out."

"Hey, we've still got plenty of folk on board," Steve reminds her. "I don't think anyone expected it to go this well, in fact. You've convinced tricksters, demons, a vampire..."

"...You've got a point there," Darcy allows, smiling a little, and Steve feels a bit of triumph, "We -are- kind of awesome at recruiting, Cap."

"...Which is a little ironic, considering," He smirks. Out on the rocks, the Selkies croon. "...Let's go to Becca's. S'just about tea time." Darcy's smile widens.

"Goin' native, Cap," She murmurs, kissing him lightly when he pulls her up off the ground, "Looks good on you."

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"I see that you've consolidated rooms," Coulson notes, when he calls them later that evening on the SHIELD-issue cell-phone. Glancing toward the bathroom, where Darcy's belting out Kelly Clarkson songs, Steve smirks.

"It's not what you think," He says steadily, his voice barely betraying his amusement. In fact, Steve schools his tone toward military, professional and precise, "Battle fatigue doesn't spare civilians. We've found, after a late night talking, that we sleep sounder in close proximity. It seemed unnecessary for SHIELD to continue paying for two rooms." The silent beat on the phone is short, but palpable.

"Understood," Phil Coulson says at last, not even the faintest trace of disbelief in his voice. "Though, with your levels of clearance, if it -were- more than that, Captain, SHIELD doesn't have terribly strict policies on fraternization."

"...No?" Steve is genuinely surprised by that, and curious. He can almost hear the agent shrug.

"Perhaps at the lower, office-setting-levels, more fuss would be made, but in all honesty..." And that's when Steve can hear the slightest threads in the man's voice, of exhaustion, of those things that seep through and make the agent seem all the more human to Steve, "...At our level of in-the-know, Captain, there are very few options for personal relationships. Even if you two are simply up against PTSD together? You've picked an excellent person to befriend. Someone who will understand, the risks and the unreliability, of being who your are."

"...Yeah," Steve clears his throat, "Um, in that case, yeah. I mean, everything I've said is still true!" He hastens to add, because something about admitting to wanting, so very badly, someone who'd experienced what Darcy had, makes him feel vaguely like a dirty old man. She'd probably have something hilarious to say to that. "We're just. Seeing where it goes."

"Understood." Phil Coulson replies, "Either way, SHIELD appreciates the smaller bill," The man totally smiles, "Especially since you've decided to extend your stay 'til Halloween."

"...When among Witches and Werewolves, sir..."

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	12. Chapter 12

((Sometimes, after a long while of working stuff out and accepting and opening up, all you need is that last big push...

Next chapter, I do something with Loki, something harkening back to one of my very favorite arcs for him. I am excite! For now though, witches and full moons and wolves and smut! HUZZAH!))

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Chapter 12

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"A man who's pure of heart

And says his prayers by night

May still become a wolf

When the autumn moon is bright..."

~ Florence + The Machine

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Halloween is a cool, clear day, the least cloudy Darcy's seen since they'd arrived in County Kerry, in fact. It isn't surprising, really, in fact she'd bet money on there being a coven of someones out there, working the weather. "I'm not entirely sure the camping equipment counts as a working expense," Steve notes, grinning, as she parks their rental car just off a gravel road, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Darcy clucks her tongue, gathering up their picnic basket. Steve slings the packed-up tent over his shoulders.

"It's technically work!" Darcy maintains, grinning back as she leads them into the trees. It's late afternoon and the shadows are just beginning to lengthen, but the path stays clear. The large clearing of farmland isn't far ahead. "If we missed anyone in our epic quest, they will be here, tonight. Liz says it's one of the biggest parties for the special folks on this island, as it isn't really anywhere that us dumb humans would expect. And," She waggles her brows, "It's a full moon this year."

"...I'm going to see my cousin get naked and turn furry, aren't I?" Steve winces, as they step out into the field, along the edges of which have already sprouted many other canvas tents, blankets and food spread out for all to share. Figures are stacking rowan wood in strategic places, ready to be lit when the sky darkens, and paper lanterns are hanging in the trees, lighted jack-o-lanterns set under them. It's not nearly as colorful as The Quidditch World Cup, but Darcy 'aint complaining.

"Probably," She admits, nodding to a far corner of the field, "In fact I think I see him! ...Clothed, don't worry, big guy." Sure enough, Michael and Ali are lounging on the grass outside their tent, which seems rather small until Ali explains that she'll be the only one sleeping in it. Michael will, apparently, be off howling and hunting all night. "You're such a good, understanding waifu," Darcy sighs, "Letting him go out and party all night with the boys." Steve laughs, and Michael gives a sheepish wince.

"...It really is a helluva time. Leastwise, when it's just us well-mannered blokes and gals."

They pitch their tent just slightly removed from the rest ("Supes can get strange when they party, best have an escape route", Alison tells them,), and then settle on the grass as well, to wait for things to start. Between watching wood instruments carted by, stilt-walkers in Faun costumes (or are they all costumes?), and more masks than a superhero's convention, new friends stop to say hullo as well. Rhiannon and Leanan are present, dressed as sister-witches. Liz, Red and the kids sit and chat for a bit, the twins reclaiming Steve as their personal jungle-gym. And Glen is there as well, watching with a grin as one of the Fauns on stilts is turning his wife Ofelia around and around in a lively dance.

And as the stars step out above, while they're happily being spectators to this merry parade, Darcy feels herself going boneless and light-hearted. She leans happily against Cap, who wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she's pretty sure he's right there with her. Enjoying the show.

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"It aint that I don't get your point," Bigby is telling Darcy later that night, when the Samhain fires are burning, and the witches present have said their prayers to the new year, "We just got a lotta problems of our own to deal with. I get that what happens to the world at large affects us all, but, if we don't police our own, nobody will. And I aint risking any of my people, 'specially the ones who can't really live 'mongst mortals, being carted off by jackboots."

"Which is why simply -having- your contact number will be enough..." Darcy trails off, watching as Bigby Wolf and Snow White's six children join Hellboy's twins in climbing all over Captain America. He's being a total trooper, even when one of their girls sets a crown of autumn daisies on his head. It certainly stirs...something. She grins, even as a realization starts building in her head, spinning the blue gem on her finger thoughtfully. All these strange people have become their allies, friends, and Darcy's brought back to one of her first conversations she had with Steve, on this trip. When he'd asked her how okay she was, with knowing that SHIELD had eyes everywhere, could meddle anywhere. For her, after what she'd been through, it was kind of a guilty comfort. But watching tonight's spectacle, the weird little children running around, it occurs to her how much the outside world could muck things up for this community. And then it isn't comforting, not anymore.

"...Honestly, though? I don't trust SHIELD to leave you be, myself." She finds herself blurting out the admission, "If it were just me, I wouldn't ever bother you unless an army of Doombots were invading..." That turns a light-switch in her head, and Bigby totally sees it, smirking, "...SHIELD wouldn't EVER get your contact info. I'm keeping everyone's whereabouts to my goddamn self. It's my stinkin' division."

Bigby busts out laughing at that, tossing his head back, "Yeah? You willin' to be that thorn in your boss' side?"

"I'd have your back," Steve pipes up, just before letting out a growl as he headlocks a giggling werewolf cub, "You wanna be that annoying SHIELD agent, sweetheart, I'm all about it!"

"Excellent!" Darcy beams, feeling far more confidant now, about what she's been doing all along, "I'm the first agent to have my credentials in the paranormal division. I kinda choose what Fury does and doesn't know. Mr. Wolf," She lifts her chin, and her mug of wine, "You give me you digits, and I swear I'll do all in my power to remain the only person at SHIELD who sees 'em. I'll be their goddamn Agent Fox Mulder." Bigby's grin is wide and feral, as he clinks mugs with her, and Snow White smiles at his side.

"Then we got a deal, kid."

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The fires burn, turning and twisting over rowan and oak and birch, crackling loud. Apples and spices are tossed in to burn on the logs, faerie folk and gifted humans alike raising their hands over the bright flames, laughing and talking and dancing. Elven wine mixes with the mortal stuff, and heads grow cloudy, bodies closer.

Darcy and Steve both gasp, and then begin laughing in amazement, as Michael is one of the very first of the werwolves to don their skin at the midnight hour. He shifts, changes, tearing away his clothes as the fur covers him. He laps at Ali's face a few times, making her laugh, before leaping into the woods, others following. Bigby turns into a pure, giant wolf to follow, most of his children at his heels or clinging to his back. It's a frightening, yet beautiful sight, and everyone cheers the wolves off into the drunken night.

"Your mug is empty," A voice at Steve's elbow says, as the cubs run off, and Red's twins drift off to fall asleep at their fathers' knee. A figure...Steve's a little embarrassed that he can't tell if they're male or female, tips a bottle of wine over his mug, touching his shoulder briefly, "...It's a heady night, best make the most of it," The figure, sinewy and dark-haired, yet with shapely hips and full lips, gives him a wink.

Desire then slips up to Darcy, as she watches the dancers around the fires, whispering in her ear, "You'll wreck him, this night. Drag him into that tent and make love to him as you've done to no other man, and will do to no other. He wants you, you know this." Desire squeezes her arm, as Darcy's breath hitches in her throat, and Desire fills up her mug as well, "Drink, and do as you've wanted since first laying eyes upon him...and do so without fear."

"...Yeah, okay."

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Steve's pretty sure that this wine shouldn't be affecting him. His metabolism has burned through every form of alcohol he's imbibed, thus far, from light beer all the way to absinthe (Tony's experimenting was very thorough. He couldn't not poke it.). But this night, he's poured something spiced and warm, seasoned with raisins and cinnamon and cloves. It gets into his blood, and sure he's been buzzed before, back before the serum, but this makes that memory seem like a pale shadow. Steve isn't drunk...but his nerves are tingling, and he knows it's being faintly tipsy, the flavors twisting pleasantly on his tongue, his blood hot in his veins.

It's Darcy, though, who looks more changed, bolder, grinning wide as she sways back toward him from the edge of the fires. The music is fast and loud, all drums and violins, as she reaches for his hand, their pulses melding in their palms, her ring so bright on her hand it's almost burning. Steve feels his breath grow short, as she pulls him up to stand, then tugs him back down for a kiss. Whomever might still be around them has drifted away, the edges of the world smudging, and yet his mind is very, -very- focused, on her.

She threads their fingers together and tugs him back toward their tent at the edge of the glade, no one much noticing at this hour. The moon is full and bright in the sky, and magic thick on the air. They're hardly the only pair to be taken over, Steve notes distantly. And it's all the sweeter for that.

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Darcy hasn't wanted anyone in a while, though she wanted Steve almost as soon as she saw him in that distant, never-going-to-happen, fangirl way. It was safe to want him, then. It was lust from afar, and no threat to her as she slowly opened herself up to the world again, to people who cared for her again. But then it was real, and he was wanting her back, and thick coats and backing away were what she did, because it's what anyone does when they're scared of what a touch might mean. She wants, though. Darcy wants so -badly- to crack through that last barrier, especially for him, but it's been too much, it's seemed too fast.

Until tonight.

Tonight, when some gorgeous being grins and tells her to climb that like a tree and you know what? That's what she wants to do. That's all Darcy wants to do, after a long drink of her hot, spiced wine. She wants him with her, under her, and what the fuck was holding her up, again? She knows, but it seems trivial, in the face of someone so good, so kind, who's looking her in the eye and it's going straight to her gut.

So yes, she does tug him back to their tent. Steve stumbles back against the hard ground through their blankets, and Darcy's on him, straddling his legs and taking his face in her hands, kissing him long and slow for the first time. The taste twists and blends, all spice and wine as her tongue slips past her lips, his following not far behind, hungry and hot. For all Tony's badgering back home, Steve Rogers sure as hell doesn't kiss like a virgin.

"...So, have you ever...?" She breathes, her hands sliding over his chest, popping his buttons. Steve grins, nodding, but there's that flush to his cheeks as well.

"Once. One of the gals in the USO tour, well she..." He stops, shaking his head, chuckling, "Later, story for later," He stammers as she rolls her hips, burying his hand in her hair and pulling her down for another kiss. Darcy likes his thinking, shucking out of her coat, though it is some small amount of relief. Not that popping Captain America's cherry wouldn't be great, but she's up for some roughhousing tonight.

She pushes off his shirt and then he's tugging hers up over her head, the witchy, wispy black thing she'd thrown on for the day. A groan tears out of his throat, right before he's pressing his lips to her chest. Darcy's had guys enjoy that view before, but from the perfect specimen that is Captain America, who's practically breaking his fingers to unhook her bra and toss it away, it's the fucking compliment of the century. She's right there with him.

"Holy hell," She breathes, hands sliding up his chest, and she knows it's supposed to be cold out but as his lips move over her breasts, Darcy feels as if she's gonna burst. The music is still going outside, the drums and the violin, and they can both hear the howling of the weres, out there somewhere in the trees. It drowns out the sounds of her moaning, gasping, thankfully, his hands slipping under her jeans and her's fumbling with his fly.

There's that awkward maneuvering, of getting out of jeans and khakis and giggling over how hard the ground is under them. But then, that fire is still bright in both of their eyes, giddy as they look at each other. And then Steve's fingers are slipping into her panties, and Darcy's eyes are sliding shut, her hips rocking against his hand as he figures out just where to touch, to stroke. When he does, she whimpers, and the man downright -growls-, his mouth on her tits again. Her head falls to his shoulder in a moan as he sucks hard on one nipple, fingers moving from her clit to slide inside of her, curling just slightly.

"Steve," She gasps, palming his erection through his boxer briefs which, damn, all right, Tony and Clint trying to dictate his clothes shopping hadn't been a complete lost cause. Darcy shuffles up against his lap a bit more, his fingers still moving and yeah, he might not be experienced, but -damnit- someone's been doing his homework, a pair of fingers nearly having her done already. Sliding her arms around his neck and getting a good grip on his hair, she pulls him to her mouth again, roughly, and the way he groans into her mouth is encouraging. His hands hastily leave her pussy and work on removing his own underwear.

A howl tears through the night outside, as Steve's hands dig into her thighs, pressing her down onto his cock. A whimper leaves her, pleased and full, her nails digging into his shoulders and her rough, woolen socks sliding against his legs. "God, Darcy," He whispers in her ear, as she starts moving up, and then down again, adjusting to him, and then taking him in to the hilt, "You're...you feel so..." His words dissolve into a gasp as she comes down again, and Darcy grins, dipping to bite his neck.

"Right there with you, Cap," She breathes, clutching onto him and picking up her pace, riding him faster. Steve's a quick study, and it isn't long before he's thrusting up into her in time with those pro hips and thighs of hers, hands sliding up her legs, squeezing her ass almost too hard, groaning over the feel of her waist and hips, thumbing her nipples.

"Jesus, you're perfect," He breathes against her throat, and Darcy would bet that only her and maybe Bucky have heard Captain America swear this much in one sitting. She's too distracted to be shocked, though, really, his cock hitting her at just the right angle, his easily distracted, clever hands still going everywhere. She's pretty sure she's leaving marks on his back, but he's leaving them on hers too, and on her thighs, buttocks, and every time a wolf's howl cuts through the music outside he's thrusting harder, clutching tighter, pressing his teeth against her flesh. Somebody's got a little bit of a wolf kink, possibly, maybe?

Darcy is more than okay with this.

He comes first, but just barely. His jerking, grasping, and frantic kisses push her right over the edge, that ache inside of her finally bursting, white lights behind her eyes as she clutches close to his sculpted chest. She bites his bottom lip hard as she tenses, arching, tightening around him and making him cry out into her mouth. And then he's turning her over, pressing her into their blankets, kissing her deep and hard as they ride out the last waves of this together, her legs tight around his waist.

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As heartbeats slow, and they pull apart gently, Steve's expression changes, back to tentative and wondering. He looks at her carefully, as he's brushing her hair back from her face, but Darcy just hums, pulling him back in for another kiss. The light from the fires is distant and flickering through their tent, the music going quieter as, Darcy's pretty sure, since midnight has long passed, more folks are also retreating to their tents. Theirs wouldn't be the only one rocking on a Samhain night, not by a long shot, it just might've been one of the first.

"...Whatever came over you, Rogers, I'm all about it," Darcy murmurs, tugging a blanket over the two of them. Steve snorts, burying his face in the crook of her neck, wrapping both big arms around her.

"Over me? You looked possessed," He grins, tugging her flush against him, kissing her neck gently, and the gem on her finger dims to a steady, low blue fire, "...This. This is okay? You're not...we didn't even use..."

"Something definitely came over me, but yeah, and I'm on the pill, so, so yeah..." Darcy swallows, nuzzling his chest, and good gods being naked with this man is everything she'd ever hoped and way, way more, hard cold ground be damned, "Yeah this is, this is really, really okay, Steve."

"Good," He rumbles then, reaching for yet another blanket. Because post-coital super-soldier or not, this was still sleeping outside, in Ireland, at the end of October. "Because I think every night possible should go like that, sweetheart."

"I like the way you think, Soldier."

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The morning comes frigid and damp, and there's sore limbs all around, and more than a few hangovers. But if Steve had been worried what would happen in the morning, his doubts are chased away when Darcy burrows into his warmth, grumbling about poor advertising on the part of sleeping bag companies. And there hadn't been any dreams, either. Not a single one. Cheesy as it might sound, Steve's pretty sure last night was better than anything is brain could've come up with anyway.

After packing up, there's just enough time to say their goodbyes to Steve's family (Becca hugging him tight, Michael looking dirty, bruised, and happy, and reminding him about that job offer), before they've got to get to Tralee and then the airport. They don't talk much, in the time between waking up and returning to Dublin, but it's a loose, close kind of quiet, Darcy's hand hardly ever leaving his. She curls up around him in the airport, sipping her tea, and then in the black SUV that drives them across the tarmac to their waiting, private SHIELD plane.

It's about then that they remember they're heading home, to New York, and Steve gives her a rueful smirk, "Sure you'll still want to be seen in public with me back home, Agent Lewis?" He asks, as they strap in, and it gets him a loud laugh.

"Steve, that was downright cheeky! I'm -so- proud," She sighs, reaching across the aisle to take his hand, as the pilot readies for takeoff. She does bite her lip though, that thoughtful tick he's grown used to, and Steve's almost nervous. But then she goes on, "...Really, you're the one who should be worried," She points out, "Captain America, dating the defiant weirdo SHIELD stuck in the paranormal division?" Her grin widens, "And a -witch-..."

"Let 'em talk," Steve growls, kissing her hand. "...You really gonna do what you said, back there? Keep all those folk and where they are to yourself, unless we need 'em?" She nods firmly. "Then I mean it too, I'll have your back. Fury can't really do much to me."

"You'd think," She winks. A beat, as they scream down the runway and up into the sky. Darcy tilts her head, "...You ready? I mean, to see Bucky again, Agent Carter-the-younger...?" Steve lets out a long breath.

"...Don't think I'll ever be ready, but," He finds himself grinning, "As you uh, so neatly pointed out last night...sometimes might be best to just jump in."

"I'm glad you approve of my methods," She smiles wide, squeezing his hand even as she shuts her eyes, sleepily. "Now let's see if we've earned ourselves some peace and quiet for a bit, yeah?"

They have, in fact. Coulson grants them both two weeks off, minus the forms that need filling out regarding their interoffice relationship. But as it's proven a week later, when Loki attacks D.C with the latest army he's enticed, super villains don't exactly respect vacation time.

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	13. Chapter 13

((For anyone still thinking I dislike Loki, this one's for you ;) I wanted to kind of meld one of my favorite arcs for him into this canon, and so I did. I like how it happened in my head, but I'm not sure if my stupid fingers have done it justice. Ah well. Enjoy the feels, if I have indeed made you feel some. Thanks be to all of you, for loving on this fic. Even if I haven't replied to you personally, it all means a lot.

Disclaimers, and full list of fables and their fandoms at the end. ))

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Chapter 13

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"At Tara in this fateful hour

I place all heaven with its power

And the sun with its brightness,

And the snow with its whiteness,

And the fire with all the strength it hath,

And the lightning with its rapid wrath,

And the winds with their swiftness along their path,

And the sea with its deepness,

And the rocks with their steepness,

And the earth with its starkness:

All these I place

By gods' almighty help and grace

Between myself and the powers of darkness..."

~ A Swiftly Tilting Planet, Madeline L'Engle

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They'd tried to go back home to their respective apartments in Brooklyn, that first night back in New York. But for all the dreamless herbs she's stocked up on, Darcy still can't actually fall asleep on her own. So she's calling Steve, and ever the gentleman he comes to walk her over to his place. Darcy brings along her still-packed suitcase, and doesn't see her place again for five days.

They do have to stop into work for their official debriefing the next day, where Darcy informs Fury that the Paranormal Division and its consultants were kind of her babies, one and all, and she wasn't divulging every little thing about them at the drop of a hat. The man doesn't push, at least not yet. In fact he looks somewhat proud of Agent Lewis and her backbone, much to Darcy's pleasure. Of course, Agent Coulson has to ruin it for them on their way out, "When he feels like he needs to push you for something, it won't go nearly so smooth," He tells her honestly, outside the office, "Stick to your principles as well you can, Agent Lewis, even when he makes it difficult."

Darcy intends to.

Then they're back at Steve's place, and it's back to spending most of her time in various states of undress. And when they're not going at each other like two people starved for human contact, Darcy's watching him as he reunites with his art supplies. Steve sets himself up on the floor, cross-legged, with pencils and pastels, trying to recreate some of the images from their trip. Darcy helpfully pulls up pictures she'd taken on her phone as references. Sometimes she reads her new, witchy books while he works, but mostly she just loves watching him like this, a side of him she hasn't seen yet, his fingers stained as he sketches and smudges.

Of course, it's not long before life interrupts, when Loki's spotted on Earth yet again. Darcy steels herself, as she rolls off the couch and dives for her cell, knowing it's time to call in some new favors. The steadying hands on her shoulders, though, staining her tank-top with chalk and pigments, do soothe her nerves. And she's gonna need 'em in fighting condition.

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"Woo! I like you losers!" Hellboy bellows, blasting a dragon off of the Capitol Lawn. Nearby, the Hulk roars his agreement, breaking another dragon over his giant green knee.

A rogue Witch of Faerie has lead an army out onto the populace, but the attack has Loki all over it. Thor's currently on top of the capitol building battling with the sorceress, trying to get it out of her just what his brother has promised her in return for her allegiance...and where the trickster Prince actually is, because nobody's seen a trace of him on the battlefield yet.

"On your six," Cap shouts up to Tony, who blasts another nasty, garbling piskie off of his tail.

"Seriously. I'm stuck with the faeries." Iron Man deadpans, leading the flock away from the fleeing civilians below. Steve, Red, Hulk and the Warriors Three are down on the ground dealing with the two-dozen, fire-breathing dragons that are ravaging the city. Down the Avenue, a cavalry of mounted female knights, who, as it turns out, can only be killed by other female warriors, are being dispatched by Black Widow, Sif and Liz Sherman. Which leaves the flying little buggers to Iron Man. "Dragons and Valkyries, and I am fighting the FREAKING. FAERIES."

"Stark, those things are like flying, flocking piranha," Coulson sighs into his com, from the impromptu command center that he and Darcy have set up in a black van some streets away, "They'll strip a human body of meat in ten seconds. And might I add that, the last time you were in Asgard, you ended up drunk, shirtless, and on Odin's horse, challenging Fandral to a joust," Darcy snorts, and the warrior's laughter echoes over the coms, "Fighting faeries is hardly the most embarrassing thing you've ever done. I have pictures, if you want me to prove it."

"Phil, let's always be friends," Darcy adjusts her headset, squinting at the video feed off of the crosswalks. "...Liz, that lady-fighter with the blue sword? You'll have to um..." She listens to the squeaking advice of her very own faerie consultant, on her other line, "Really, Nuala? Um, I guess you've got to aim for her hands! Only way to kill that one."

"Can do," Liz replies, just before the -whooshing- of flame and the screaming of an angry, dying Fae reaches their ears.

"We've almost got all of the lizards down," Captain America breathes heavily into his com, "And it looks like Thor is wearing the Witch down, where the -hell- is Loki?!" Darcy bites her lip, as she and Phil look to every one of their screens in turn, seeing only civilians evacuating, and the fight as it's winding down.

"I don't know, but as nice as it is, that we're saving the day, we may be losing this window to get at him." Coulson says evenly. Darcy looks down, at the brightly-shining ring on her hand, and takes a deep breath.

"...I might have an idea," She says over the radio, "Steve, get to our location as fast as you can, I'll need something from you." Silence. And then,

"...I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"No, but I can't think of anything else. Get Thor's attention, we'll need him too."

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Five minutes and one very short argument later, which she wins, Darcy slips out of the van, jogging across the deserted streets, darting between buildings, following the sounds of panic and running feet. When she finally reaches a main traffic area, full of folks evacuating, Darcy lets out a long breath, closing her eyes, mustering her courage from someplace deep, strong, determined. Then she slips off her ring of protection, from Asgard, tucking it into her pocket, and she joins the fleeing mob.

It's isn't hard for her to pick up the panic and terror all around her, to let it into her being. Before half a minute has passed, Darcy's pretty sure she's a pulsing beacon to anyone looking for her, and there is indeed someone looking. A full minute, and he's materializing in front of her in the street, that wide smirk and those half-mad, beautifully green eyes. Darcy doesn't have to fake the fear that grips her, rooting her to the ground. On the contrary, she embraces it, letting it have her for this long moment, as with people running past all around them, Loki approaches her slowly, reaching out to her face.

"There you are," He whispers almost reverently, or in some parody of reverence, tilting his head, touching her chin to tilt her face up, "They've been hiding you, haven't they, my dearest, darling vessel," The trickster murmurs, sliding his other hand through her hair, "I thought something like this might do the trick. Chaos often does."

"Y-you threw this party for me?" She gulps, grinning shakily, "Aww sweetie, I'm touched, really." He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Oh, that fire, it's what made you perfect for this," Loki bites his lip, his hand suddenly clutching her jaw hard, yanking her forward. Darcy forces herself to stay focused, to not yell, not to cringe away, like almost every nerve ending wants her to do. She forces herself to breathe, shutting her eyes as he rests his forehead against hers, doing the same. "I've missed you. And that pliant little head of yours."

Her shaking hand slips into her pocket then, this time drawing out a small, pale-blue crystal and palming it, tightly.

"...Steve Rogers asks for The Corinthian." She whispers. Loki's head snaps up again, frowning.

"...What?"

"Hello." A voice over his shoulder purrs, and his grip on Darcy loosens.

The Corinthian is of a height with Loki, the latter staring the former down for only half a moment before he's staggering backwards. Loki holds up a hand, shaking his head.

"NO." He hisses, swallowing hard, backing away.

But the Corinthian still advances, slowly. "Loki Lyesmith, Odinson, Laufeyson..." And it is strange, Darcy thinks, as she shrinks away on the concrete, to see this princely figure in all his Asgardian clothes, cowering before a thin, pale man in jeans and a t-shirt. The Nightmare draws away his sunglasses, though, and then he becomes the most terrifying Thing there is. He catches Loki in an iron grip under the jaw, a mirror of how he'd held Darcy, forcing him to look into his face.

"Look on me, loved son of Odin and Frigga, and beloved brother of Thor," The Corinthian tells him, as Loki's face crumples, gasping, shaking his head, "Look on the Dark Mirror. Look on your deeds. Look on what you've done unto others. Acknowledge yourself." Loki's hands claw at the Corinthian's wrist, but it's too late. He's seen what he was meant to, in those horrific eyes lined in their teeth.

A few more moments, and then the Corinthian stands, leaving the god to press his fists against the concrete, silently shouting, his face twisted in pain.

"He shouldn't trouble you, any longer," The Nightmare polishes his glasses before replacing them on his face, which is when Darcy finally looks up at him.

"Th-thank your Master, for us." The Corinthian bows, before shimmering away on the air.

It's in that moment that Thor lands between them, gathering up his brother in his arms, clutching him close as he twitches in his pains. Cap isn't far behind on the ground, and Darcy feels him come up behind her, resting both hands on her shoulders as she stares at the reunion.

"Loki...brother?!" Thor looks on his face, as Loki gazes back up at him, expression still drawn in truly, honest agony. Darcy wants to be glad that he's twisting, tortured, and in pain. But she finds that she can't be. If Darcy feels anything, it's only relief.

"...Take me home, brother," He gasps out.

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The next week has Darcy highly distracted, between the inevitable showdown with her bosses over the policing of the more supernatural population they just got a front row seat to, and seeing that all the magic weaponry and dragon carcasses get safely disposed of. Then there's consoling Tony with booze, when R&D discovers that they can't do shit with faerie tech, as it crumbles to dust when prodded by human-worked metals and computers. She almost doesn't give herself a breather, far too dedicated in protecting her new friends and proving herself as a division head. Thankfully, there's someone looking out for her as well.

"All right, I'm kidnapping you," Steve informs her, lifting her up out of her office chair and swinging her over his shoulder, to her mild protesting. "You haven't eaten all day, hun."

"I had half a bagel this morning!" Darcy maintains, even as she lets herself be carried off. Now that he mentions it, her stomach is empty of anything but herbal tea. Even Bruce wouldn't approve.

"Jane and Thor have been back from Asgard since this morning, and Jane ordered Mexican food up to the lounge to tempt you out of your cave," Steve tells her, and Darcy's eyes narrow, as he sets her on her own two feet again in the elevator. "And Michael and Ali will be here soon, with the baby."

"...That's lowdown, dirty blackmail, Rogers," Darcy sighs, leaning in as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. "Real tacos and new babies. It's diabolical, is what it is." Cap laughs, leaning down to kiss her, and that's just even more manipulation. But Darcy decides, what the hell, being manipulated is fun. Sometimes.

Up in the lounge of Stark Tower, Jane has opened a dozen take-away trays on the counter, James Barnes sitting at the end of said counter, swinging his feet. "This era has way better burritos, man," Bucky grins, giving Steve a wave with his metal hand. Darcy leaves the boys to be bros, going to give Jane a big hug.

"How'd it go?" She asks in a murmur, and the scientist hesitates, tilting her head.

"...Good, really good." Jane settles on, nodding, though her frown is thoughtful, "Unexpected, though...eat first, it's a long story, and you're the hero of the week anyway."

Darcy doesn't need to be told twice, digging into her rice and beans with a fervor. The boys of course can pack away more than half the food on display on their own, so she's sure to stake a claim on all her favorites first. Super soldiers, seriously. Darcy grins as she watches the boys catching up, as if Steve hadn't been avoiding his buddy like the plague a month ago. Best friends are able to forgive you the big stuff like that, she supposes, glancing at the small scar that lingers on Jane's neck.

Michael and Ali show up a little later, both downright giddy at being new parents, and being in New York -in Stark Tower-. Though to be fair, Ali still looks a bit worn down. "Went into labor on the plane," She confesses, passing Steve a warm, tiny bundle that he can't help cooing over like a big dork. Darcy's pretty sure that both she and Jane's ovaries explode in that moment, no lies, "Thanks be to Tony Stark fer sendin' us that cushy jet, I was laid out on the comfiest couch th' whole time."

"After you tell him thanks, tell him you gave birth on it," Darcy gives her a wicked grin, and Steve laughs, handing the baby off to Jane, who's practically making grabby-hands. Oh dear. She looks good with a baby, too, which is kind of even more unsettling.

"So, moved over here that fast eh?" Steve grins, and his cousin shrugs.

"Still waitin' on most of our stuff, pretty much just packed th' baby stuff," Michael chuckles, "Save for the nursery, th'new flat in Brooklyn's bare as sin."

"Jeez, just what I need," Bucky sighs dramatically, "More Rogers micks in Brooklyn," He winks, and Steve sends a fist to his metal arm. Michael just laughs.

"Aww, Steve, babe, you've got a whole posse now!" Darcy beams.

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After a bit of chatter, Jane finally tears her eyes away from the newborn when Thor enters the room. Darcy looks up as well, raising a hand to say hello, before realizing that he's not alone. "...Sup big guy," Bucky breaks the awkward silence that follows the sight of Thor with a young boy on his shoulders, backlit by the city and the bright sun through the windows. It takes Darcy a lot longer than everyone else, to process what she's seeing, as he sets his younger brother on his feet.

"My friends," Thor beams, "We were just about to return home."

Darcy feels a hand on her arm, Jane leaning forward to whisper, "...I guess it was the only way to save his sanity. All that he saw...it was too much. I don't exactly know how the magic up there works, but...call it a reboot, I suppose?" Darcy swallows, looking down at the little boy with all of Loki's features, back through time. The eyes are mischievous yet without guile, as he looks up at his brother, who's exclaiming over the baby. The smile is any child's, and without cruelty. She feels Steve tall and steady behind her again, and she lets out a long breath. This draws the child's attention, and Loki looks up at her, blinking.

"You're Miss Darcy," He says, polite and proper, Loki's accent in a child's voice, sounding all of a little Prince, "I..." The boy's forehead creases, eyes troubled, in that honest, bothered look that only a small boy can pull off, "...I remember that I hurt you. Badly, didn't I?"

"...Yeah," Darcy's breath hitches in her throat, "Yeah, you did."

"I almost made you hurt Lady Jane," He remembers, biting his lip, as his looming big brother turns to rest a large hand on his small shoulder. Darcy just nods, and the boy reaches for her hand, saying earnestly, "...I'm very sorry."

"...I forgive you, kiddo," Darcy sucks in a long breath, squeezing his hand, "...You were kinda going through a thing." Loki grins.

"Kind of. I found out I was adopted a few days ago," He turns, looking up at Thor, "...I think she's the last one I could remember. Oh! Mr. Hawkeye," The kid's eyes go wide, remembering, "I need to tell him that I am sorry as well. Then we can go home."

"In time for supper, mother will be pleased. Come, let's search the air vents," Thor smiles, and Jane reluctantly hands over the baby to go with them, getting perhaps a bit longer of a kiss from her god than was customary, in front of friends.

"I'll see you tomorrow," She smiles at Darcy, following the brothers out of the room. Darcy watches them go, blinking, hands still raised in front of her.

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"...All right, witchy girl?" Bucky asks from the counter, as Steve wraps both arms around her shoulders from behind, kissing the top of her head. Darcy nods, slowly, and then shakes her head, "...Pick one or the other."

"No, no I'm good," Darcy murmurs, "Just...kind amazed at how much better that actually made me feel," She swallows. Sure, she'd still have her ticks, her fears; she might have them for a really long time, in fact. But Darcy had a lot of other things too. She had the guy behind her. And she'd just seen the man, in his last honest form (if she had to guess), and it had meant something. She turns in Steve's arms, resting her chin on his chest. "Hey, so, the little kid who used to be the insanely damaged god who made my life hell? He totally just apologized to me."

"Eh, I've seen weirder things." Steve smirks, kissing her nose, "...Let's finish dinner and go home."

"The best of plans."

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"So, has your curiosity into the workings of humans been sated?" Death asks her brother, as they sit cross-legged atop Stark Tower. Dream smiles, slightly, that glint in his black eyes flashing again.

"Quite the opposite, sister," He confesses, tucking a small crystal back into the pocket of his khakis. "They've astounded me, and I find that I must always know more."

"Well," She stretches, "That's nothing new about you, at least," She winks, "And I think you've got a whole mess of neat-o ones right here. Gods and metal men and giant green fellas..."

"I think you're right." He leans back on his elbows, squinting into the sun, "Let's watch them a while, mm?"

"Mmm," She hums in reply, "I suppose death can get along without me, for a little while anyway..."

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~ Fin

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(( Most of the non-Marvel cast:

Hellboy/Liz Sherman/Abe Sapien: **Hellboy Film Canon, Various**

Dream/Death/Desire/Nuala the Faerie/The Corinthian: **Sandman Series, Neil Gaiman**

Angel: **Buffy The Vampire Slayer/Angel, Joss Whedon**

Aziraphale the Angel: **Good Omens, Neil Gaiman **

Bigby Wolf/Snow White/Their kids: **Fables Series, Bill Willingham **

Charles Wallace Murray: **A Wrinkle In Time/A Swiftly Tilting Planet/Others by Madeline L'Engle**

Ofelia: **Pan's Labyrinth**

The Glanconer/Rhiannon/Leanan/Werewolves/Etc: **Various Mythology**

All non-original characters/plots are the property of their respective creators, I make no moneys.))


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